The Black Cage
by Fanwright
Summary: "O Muse! Sing! That I may dream a conqueror's dream!" - With Ozai long dead, executed by Fire Lord Azulon, his family now lives in luxurious seclusion, prisoners under constant watch in one of the most imposing fortresses in the Fire Nation. - Sokkla Saturdays: Free-write Challenge.
1. Chapter 1: Bow

**\- Bow -**

* * *

Footfalls against the polished obsidian floor echoed across the throne room, drawing closer to the dais.

Fire Lord Azulon leaned forward on his cushion atop the throne, narrowing his eyes, straining them to see through the darkness at the end of the hall.

With a low grunt and a slight wave of his hand, the dull curtain of fire set before his throne grew, crackling with power, a strong light glinting off the gold dragon bas-reliefs snaking around the obsidian pillars, illuminating the space in front of him.

Three figures approached. Two were guards from the Royal Procession, their crimson armor resplendent in the firelight, facemasks as fearsome as the grimace of a dragon. They flanked an old and wiry man dressed in the gray robes of the Fire Nation's royal intelligence service, the Juntong, his graying hair tied back into a topknot adorned with a brass headpiece.

They came to a stop in front of the dais, the aged Fire Lord gazing over them with a grizzly countenance.

As one, they declared the longevity of his reign, their voices booming through the darkened hall.

"Great Fire Lord! Father of our nation! May you live and reign forever!"

Azulon's eyes glowed as the echoes faded, his drying lips twisting into a smirk. Something always stirred within him when he heard those words. He sat up straighter, held his head higher, and felt an old fiery power course through him, like a dragon roused from a long sleep.

The officer and the guards dropped to their knees, kowtowing before him, their palms and foreheads pressed firmly to the floor in total submission.

Azulon's faded yellow eyes raked over their backs and breathed contently. _This_ was what it felt to be master of his people.

He raised a pale bony hand from his long dark crimson sleeve, twisting his palm upward.

"Rise," he commanded, his voice booming through the air.

As one they lifted their heads and remained kneeled, eyes cast down, hands resting on their laps. His smirk widened. He was their puppet master, and they his willing marionettes.

He studied the Juntong officer closely as he knelt, noting the gold uniform piping that ran along the cuffs of his loose fitting gray sleeves. He had the look of a calculating bureaucrat, with shrewd yellow eyes peering out from behind thick eyeglasses.

Azulon's smirk wrinkled into a hard frown. He knew this man from Iroh, a former peer from the Royal Military Academy with competing ambitions. Neither had seen eye-to-eye and Azulon was unimpressed by his wearisome personality.

"Xianhou," Azulon rasped, "To what do I owe such a _rare_ visit from the Director of the Juntong? Have you found the last of my traitorous son's supporters?"

The man looked up toward the Fire Lord, unmoved by his tone. Azulon kept an irritated growl in check. He looked as somber as ever.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head slightly, "I am here to give you the latest information regarding the Hukbong Bayan."

Azulon's eyes narrowed, glaring at the Director.

"What can you tell me about the rebels that Prince Iroh and army intelligence have not? He already made his report to the general staff less than a week ago."

The Director's lips tightened, his eyes narrowed, the look of calm professionalism subtlety shattered. Azulon took a measure of pride in accomplishing that.

"Yes, Your Majesty," The Director said, "I am aware of this. I was given a copy by the army a few days ago. My staff and I were still compiling our own report to present to you."

Azulon sniffed the air derisively, feigning sincerity as he addressed the Director.

"You effort is _noted_ , Xianhou, and I _regret_ that you were not able to attend the war council with us. I shall review your report, in good time, with the _utmost_ interest. I am sure it will match the one made by army intelligence."

A pause. For a moment the Director's gaze faltered and he blinked in astonishment.

The Fire Lord's lips curled into a grim smile. The less he had to deal with him the better.

"Your Majesty, if I may express a concern," he said, his jaw tightening.

Azulon let out a small sigh. "If you must, Xianhou, but, do note, I have _other_ matters needing my attention after we are done here."

"I believe the army's report was too _optimistic_ regarding the rebels."

His words sank in and Azulon's eyes widened, anger flaring within him. He shot Xianhou a glare.

"Too _optimistic_? Well, by all means, Director, _elaborate_ for me."

"Of course, Your Majesty," he answered monotonously, bowing his head slightly.

Azulon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stroked his thin beard, his quiet anger fanning the curtain of fire between him and Xianhou.

"As I said," he continued, "After reading the army's report, I believe Prince Iroh and the general staff may look upon this conflict with the rebels with an excess of optimism. Prince Iroh stated that the army's strategy of search-and-destroy, relying on enemy body count as a measure to our success, has proven effecti-"

"And I _believe_ Prince Iroh on this, as do many of the general staff," Azulon interrupted, "Strongholds and villages in the highland wastes, harboring rebel fighters and sympathizers, have been _wiped out_ thanks to his methods."

"Yes, Your Majesty, that much may be true, but it has _not_ broken their will to fight. According to _my_ information this strategy may be proving ineffective, convincing others to join-"

"Their will to fight? Director, they have no will left to fight with. This small force cannot withstand the pressure Iroh has placed upon them. Why else would they actively avoid battle with our forces?"

"Your Majesty, that is _precisely_ the issue I have with the intelligence gathered by the army. Their conclusions do not match ours and it is entirely likely that the Hukbong Bayan are intentionally avoiding our forces, bidding their time, and gathering strength."

Azulon covered his mouth, stifling a laugh. "… _What_?"

The director continued, unmoved. "Your Majesty, my sources have gathered troubling evidence that indicate the rebel force is far larger than we originally thought."

Xianhou took a moment to glance beside him. Extending his right arm out, the royal guard took a thick scroll from his belt and handed it to him. Bowing his head, the Director laid the scroll in front of him with both hands.

"This is the report I mentioned. It contains our own analysis on the rebels' strength, capabilities, as well as possible intentions. Prince Iroh's report states that the enemy is only a few thousand strong, made up of local irregulars from the wastes. _Our_ sources say they number in the tens of thousands, with highly motivated, well-disciplined fighters from multiple provinces augmented by army deserters."

Azulon shook his head in disbelief. " You must be _joking_ , Director Xianhou. It is as if you are accusing my _only_ son of incompetence in regards to intelligence gathering."

"My Lord, I accuse your son of nothing," the Director stated, shaking his head slowly, "I am only stating what my men have found. This is a dangerous and committed revolutionary force. We can not afford to underestimate them and let them spread through the Fire Nation."

"They are _spreading_?" asked Azulon, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. Prince Iroh's forays into the highland wastes have forced the Hukbong Bayan to regroup in other provinces. My sources are still unsure of where they have spread, but we are certain they have created cells in dozens of locations. We suspect they will attempt to recruit fighters among the population… or worse."

Azulon sniffed incredulously. "Director, you make these rebels seem as dangerous as the Dai Li. You are _exaggerating_. Army intelligence has _confirmed_ they do not have the capability to do what you may suggest. These are _not_ trained specialists."

"Your Majesty, I beg to differ here," Xianhou said, choosing his next words more carefully, "You are the leader of the Fire Nation, the one who will carry us through these dark times. My men have worked tirelessly to compile this information and have made sure it is as accurate as we can make it. We only wish to aid you in this struggle."

Again, Xianhou bowed his head, touching his forehead and palms to the floor.

"I beg you, please consider this report, as you have considers Iroh's," he said, his voice almost trembling.

Silence settled across the vast hall. Azulon looked upon the Director, his gaze settling on his back like a lead weight.

"Director," he finally stated, "What you suggest is _nonsense_. My son, Prince Iroh, has been in the field _far longer_ than you. He has seen the extent of this rebellion himself and assures me it can be ended decisively, so long as we pursue our current strategy. He would not lie to me and I am _offended_ that you would even _suggest_ such a thing."

Xianhou's head immediately shot up, panic in his eyes, his forehead permeated with sweat.

"No, Your Majesty!" he pleaded, "I did no such thing! I have no doubt Iroh's ability to conduct war is impressive, but this is not a conventional war we are fighting! We have not dealt with an enemy like this. These are not tribal raiders or pirates or even one of the many armies from the fractured Earth Kingdom. These are revolutionaries. If we are not careful, they may become the greatest threat the Fire Nation has seen in several generations!"

"Ridiculous!" Azulon exclaimed, "Under my rule, the Fire Nation has known prosperity and order! I have kept it from tearing itself apart as the Earth Kingdom has, rooted out enemies and traitors! That old air-bender, Avatar Aang, should be grateful for what I have done. I have spared him work! While the world descends into chaos, the Fire Nation stands strong!"

The room was briefly illuminated in a flash of blinding fire, its heat unbearable. Xianhou and the guards beside him cringed in the face of Azulon's outburst, their heads bowed, shielding themselves from the heat.

Azulon let those words sink in as echoes trailed across the room. The curtain of fire calmed, crackling feebly, the light in the room dimming.

Xianhou was quiet as his eyes focused on the floor, uncertain of how to respond. He could hear the old Fire Lord rasp as he caught his breath, trying to find his words.

"The Hukbong Bayan are _nothing_ , Xianhou," Azulon finally said, sitting up straight, "Their message of ' _uniting the oppressed workers and peasants_ ' of the Fire Nation count for nothing against the superior firepower our army. We will crush them and their deluded notions of ending my family's divine right to rule this land."

Xianhou, gulped hard, tightening his lips.

"Of couse, Your Majesty," he said, his head cast down, "Please, forgive me. I only wished to be of service to you and this nation, as Director of the Juntong."

"Then you will redirect assets from monitoring the rebels and continue your search for any remnants of Ozai's supporters," Azulon ordered, "My traitorous son may have been executed, but there are still those who hide from me, escaping retribution."

His fists tightened in his lap, knuckles going white at the thought of his late son.

Ozai had always been jealous of his brother and it had corrupted his mind, convincing him to plot the unthinkable. He felt nothing when the executioner brought the blade down upon his neck and he felt nothing for his family when they were locked away in the Black Cage. He only felt anger for putting to death so many army officers that were willing to support him. It was a stain on his nation's honor.

"Mark my words, Director, the ones who escaped are still out there. They _have_ to be. They _will_ be brought to justice, as long as you double your efforts."

"…Of course, Your Majesty," Xianhou said, bowing his head, his tone laced with reluctance, "It will be done."

"Good. Now leave," Azulon ordered, waving a hand for the guards to show him out of the throne room.

They rose from their places on the floor, bowing their heads before turning on their heels and disappearing into the shadows at the far end of the hall, their footsteps fading away.

Alone, Azulon allowed himself to relax his body, slouching to relieve the tension plaguing his back, cracking his strained neck, his mind heavy with troubles.

"First Ozai and his foolish attempt to kill Iroh, and now this tiresome little rebellion," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, "I suppose I should be fortunate his family have not attempted to cause me trouble…"

Fatigued, Azulon sighed heavily, slowly rising from his seat on the throne, and made his way out through a side entrance into a nearby hall.

The captain of the Royal Procession, flanked by four other guards, stood at attention waiting for him. Azulon briefly acknowledged them, causally motioning his hand for them to follow him. Taking their positions on either side of the Fire Lord, they made their way down the long hall.

The captain walked along side him. "Your Majesty, a messenger hawk arrived earlier while you were attending the meeting with Director Xianhou. It was from the Black Cage."

Dread shot through Azulon and he wished he had never said those words.

"I assume it is the usual monthly report then," he said, looking straight head, his hands folded behind him as they walked across the black marbled floor of the hallway.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Captain Suki of the mercenaries hired from Kyoshi Island reports the Black Cage remains secured. So far no attempts of a breakout have been made by any of the family members."

"Good. That's what I want to hear," Azulon stated, nodding approvingly, "It seems I made the right choice in hiring them to keep watch over the Black Cage. Chi-blockers seem to be a convenient deterrent against Ozai's children. What about the precautions she has implemented in regards to Zuko and Azula?"

"She reports that the chi-blocking gauntlets are still working fine, Your Majesty," the captain responded.

Azulon chuckled grimly.

" _Very_ good. I must say this captain from Kyoshi Island is quite clever. She has effectively taken away their ability to bend, preventing the two people capable of escaping from ever doing so. I seem to recall the two brats made a fuss over this in a older message."

"Unfortunately they did, Your Majesty. Four of the guards were burned while attempting to put the gauntlets on Lady Azula. Lord Zuko was eventually talked into putting them on without much of a struggle, thanks to Lady Ursa's intervention."

"Ah, yes, now I remember. A shame to imprison one of Great Roku's descendants, but that was the price for being associated with a traitor. If it weren't for her lineage I would have executed her and her family along with Ozai. Luck has seen fit to smile upon her. Anything else she reports?"

"There is. Besides the usual ledger for payment due for their services, Captain Suki also mentioned the… _special arrangement_ for the family's entertainment."

The tone in the captain's voice made Azulon slow his pace, looking toward him with a quizzical scowl.

And then he remembered, groaning as he pinched the bridge of his nose

"Oh. _That_ ," he sighed heavily, "What is it now?"

"She requests a slight increase in her pay in order to compensate the establishment she is hiring the entertainer from. The owner insisted on a higher price for their services."

Azulon stifled an urge to growl, keeping himself composed as best as he could.

"Agni's _breath_ … clever as she may be, this was a poor choice on her part. Why she would hire a, uh… what are those _deviants_ called again, captain?"

"Hosts, Your Majesty, from Fire Fountain City's Yukaku Quarter. The pleasure district?"

"Yes, I _know_ the place, captain, I made districts just like it _legal_ in our major cities," Azulom snapped, rubbing his forehead with his fingers, "On the chance they will bring the crown some bloody revenue…"

"I understand, my lord. Perhaps the owner is looking for an assurance from Captian Suki that he will not be charged with illegally allowing one his hosts to operate outside the district."

"Yes, yes, I know. The captain is looking for assurance as well. What she is asking for is nothing short of a crime against this nation's laws. Why can't we convince her to end this arrangement?"

"Your Majesty, apparently the family has come to appreciate this host's company. Captain Suki has noted that this young man has kept them distracted and made their conditions bearable. Based on her report, given the family's… _tense_ relationships with one another, this could work to your benefit and may dissuade them from trying to escape."

Azulon folded his arms in front of his chest, contemplating his options. His brow was heavily furrowed and he had the look of a grizzled king weighed down by his own crown.

He sighed. "The Black Cage is palace unto itself. It has been a prison for this family's undesirables since I could remember. Sozin's father kept the wives that could not give him a son there, as well his royal bastards. There they would stay until the end of their lives. He made their stay as comfortable as possible, a mercy and luxury none of them deserved…"

He glanced toward the captain, his expression hard and reluctant.

"I will follow the example he has set. Tell Captain Suki she will get the increase she desires in order to compensate the owner. I must get an assurance from _both_ of them that this arrangement will be left in the shadows."

"Yes, Your Majesty! It will be done," the captain said, bowing in acknowledgement before turning in the opposite direction down the hall.

Azulon looked on, pushing the issue from his mind as thoughts of other, more pressing matters that required his attention took priority.

With all that was happening in the Fire Nation and the world, he took comfort in the thought that Ozai's troublesome family, secluded far and away from him, was the least of his worries.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading and I'll see you next Saturday!


	2. Chapter 2: Memory

**\- Memory -**

* * *

 _The night was alive in Yukaku._

 _All around Sokka the long and narrow street that defined Fire Fountain City's most notorious district was awash with sound and color as the humming masses of richly clothed pleasure-seekers wandered in bliss._

 _Red, orange, and yellow lamps swayed in the summer air on cords over the street, bathing the crowds in warm, passionate hues, hungry eyes darting up at the gaudy colored signs hanging from the red pagoda roofs trimmed with gold._

 _Girls with painted skin wrapped in silky red knee-high kimonos passed out cards and advertisements to passersby, luring the curious into the many bars, soap-land shops, pink salons, and cabarets that lined the busy street. Some flirted with important looking men or women, winking and smiling, sending their imaginations on wild trips with promises of pleasure._

 _Escorts and women of the night dressed in luxuriant tight-fitting qipao dresses slinked among the throngs of visitors, pale legs glistening in the red light from behind hip-high slits, their arms and hands interwoven with their clients'. They talked and laughed, their words like the sweetest honey, creating illusions for the unhappy and the lonely._

 _And there were boys as well, who had their own special roles among the night workers of Yukaku. Peddlers selling goods from the odd to the illicit, promoters in front of clubs dressed in gaudy colored gold-trimmed tunics performing party tricks for interested customers, effeminate escorts in thin silken robes in the arms of their clientele._

 _Everywhere Sokka glanced as he made his way through the crowds, the scents of a dozen cheap perfumes mixing with the sharp smell of booze, he was reminded of the power this place had over people, how easily their desires could be met._

 _He looked ahead of him, staring at the back of an army officer with his arm wrapped around the waist of a tipsy escort reeking of cheap beer._

 _And then he was reminded that he, like the woman hanging helplessly off the shoulder of her client in front of him, had to cater to the people with those desires._

 _Sokka's eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a small grimace as the memory of what brought him to this horrible place came back to him, shame washing over his mind._

" _I love this place at night," a voice purred beside him over the din of music from a nearby club, an arm hooked with his left, fingers tenderly intertwining with his own. "Its wild here. Feels like I'm floating in a red dream, like I'm as young as one of my kids again."_

 _Sokka glanced at the woman beside him holding onto his arm. She was one of his regular clients, a noblewoman with a taste for "skimo" boys, as she liked to call Water Tribesmen, and a penchant for wearing pink cheongsam dresses that hugged her figure._

 _He still remembered the night she first paid for him – said he was like candy, sweet and addicting. It was a compliment, and perhaps it wasn't meant to sound degrading, but later that same night, when she had left, he did not find peace in her words._

 _He gave her smile. "I think you've always looked young, Jiang."_

 _Sokka felt a nudge from her elbow as she giggled. "Stop it, you don't mean that."_

" _Sure I do," Sokka insisted, "Woman like you, looking the way you do right now, I'd never guess. You got so much energy in you that you just wanna let out and I feel it, y'know?"_

 _Her head turned away, trying not to let a grin show as she clung to his arm, her braided ponytail lightly whipping her ear._

" _Well, having two daughters tends take a toll on the body, you know," She said, feeling the pink silk of her dress near her stomach, "Agni knows I try to keep in shape in between their bickering and having to make them food. I practically raised them myself. Can't count on my husband or the servants to help me."_

" _You work hard, Jiang. You're a good mother to them. Sometimes its good to take a break and just have some fun. You deserve it."_

" _Tell me about it," she chuckled, "I hardly get to go out anymore. Don't ever become a noble with kids, sweetie. It'll be social suicide when your spouse'll get to travel to places you won't ever get to see."_

" _I wouldn't be here enjoying the night with you if I was. I'm just a skimo boy in the presence of refined and mature company after all," Sokka said._

 _Something twitched in the back of his neck and he forced himself to give a genuine looking smile, quashing what little pride he had left. That was his job, all part of the illusion, anything to make the client feel catered to and desired._

 _At Club Hasu there were a few polite terms for boys like him with this kind of job in Yukaku. 'Host' was the commonly used name. Middle-aged noblewomen with taels to spend and time on their hands paid for a night of drinks, games, and conversation with any exotic pretty boy they liked, chosen from a menu like an evening dinner at an up-class restaurant._

 _Regulars to the club, like Jiang, got special treatment. For a few taels more, they got the boyfriend experience – wandering Yukaku, checking out the sites, drinking, and at the end of it all burn the rest of the night away with a session in one of the love motels that lined the street._

 _By that point hosts stopped being hosts. People had names for those kinds of boys too, just like they had names for the girls. Boyfriends-for-hire, boy-toys, hokan, kagema, by any other name Sokka couldn't hide the fact he was a whore, just one that promised a romantic experience with the sex._

 _Jiang's laugh rose into air, mixing with a hundred other voices. She took a breath and eyed him like a piece of savory meat, smirking playfully. Sokka returned the gesture with a knowing smile._

" _So, I'm like fine wine now, huh?" Jiang asked as she turned her gaze toward him, painted red lips curving into a curious smile. "What kind would I be?"_

" _That's an interesting question," Sokka said, looking thoughtful, "I'd say… you know, I'd argue you wouldn't be a wine."_

" _Oh? How's that?" Jiang asked, raising a manicured eyebrow, looking surprised._

 _Fighting the impulse to compare her to something worse, Sokka's eyes wander over the red lamps hanging above them as they walked through the crowds, thinking of a comparison she'd like._

" _Now, I'm no wine expert or anything. I mean, I'm a water tribesman, I come from a place where melted ice passes for strong drink and we poke whale carcasses for giggles. What do I know, right?" he said._

 _Jiang chuckled heartily, enveloping Sokka's arm in a tight grip, his sarcasm lost on her._

" _Never would have guessed," she said, snaking another arm around his waist, her palm pressing against his ocean blue silken tunic. "You're like a fish when you put away those drinks."_

" _I swear, sometimes I can't even feel the burn when it goes down," he lied, shrugging with a confident smile. "But, yeah, if you were a drink… I'd say you'd be like Red Dragon's Brew."_

 _Jiang was perplexed for a moment until the name of the brand jogged the memory of the taste. He knew she tasted it before._

 _She knowingly smiled, looking at him a touch of pride. "That's good stuff."_

" _It's popular here in Yukaku. Its sweet, velvety in texture, smooth and soft when it goes down…"_

 _Sokka leaned his head closer to Jiang's, his lips and nose brushing against her soft, perfumed skin at the nape of her neck. She hummed, giggling lightly at the pleasant tingle as the fingers of his right arm made playful figure eights over her wrist._

" _A lasting, sweet scent," he whispered in her ear. He left out the part where the aftertaste was like moldy rice and the headache the morning after was the equivalent to getting trampled on by a komodo-rhino._

 _Jiang quivered, smiling as she felt his warm breath on her exposed skin._

" _Easy, boy," she said, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, "Were not even at the motel yet."_

" _Might need to get some of that Red Dragon's Brew along the way then," Sokka said, "Get us fired up."_

" _Of course we will," she purred, kissing the silk on his shoulder "I'm your sugar mama for the night aren't I? I'll take good care of you, sweetie."_

 _She wasn't wrong either. As a regular client she could afford to waste taels for the kind of extra service Sokka provided. A bottle from one of the many vendors lining the street was nothing._

 _They walked arm in arm through the red crowds, stopping at liquor shops and bars packed with patrons to try and find the drink they needed, passing fire-twirlers performing on the street, streaks of yellow fire from their batons twisting into dizzying circles in the hazy summer night._

 _They stopped in front of a calmer, open-air bar, with drunken army draftees in crisp red uniforms lounging next to bottle-filled tables and stools, their arms draped over girls with painted lips and thin red silken dresses._

 _Sokka spotted the bartender through the small crowd cleaning a glass, but before he could go up to the counter-top Jiang's hand went to his wrist. His eyes widened as he turned to her._

" _Why don't you wait at a table for a bit, sweetie," she said, "There's not a big crowd here. I'm sure they still have a bottle left."_

 _Sokka shrugged as she let go of his wrist, finding an unoccupied table next to him and taking a seat._

" _Don't keep me waiting," Sokka teased, lounging back in the metal chair, "I'm a fish, remember? And I'm getting awfully thirsty."_

 _Jiang's red lips curled into a fiendish smile. She walked up to him, two fingers placed beneath his smoothly shaven chin, making him look up at her as he smirked._

" _Behave yourself boy, at least until we get to the motel."_

" _No promises," he retorted, gently taking the fingers under his chin and kissing them._

 _Jiang slipped them away from his grasp, giggling to herself as she strutted away toward the countertop where the bartender was._

 _Sokka took a deep breath and allowed himself to scowl, looking out onto the busy street. Putting on an act, pretending to be attracted to her, was a drain on him. One slip up, one crack in the illusion he created for her, and it was more than just being kicked out of the job._

 _Yukaku and all the pleasure districts in the country were legal under Fire Nation law – as long as those activities stayed within the districts. Crime syndicates like the Gokudo in Yukaku practically ran the place, backed by the crown in exchange for a stream of revenue._

 _If he dissatisfied a client, even by a little, then the owner of his club could write him off as a liability and by that point his fate was as good as sealed._

 _The Gokudo in Fire Fountain City had a way of dealing with liabilities that made Sokka's neck twitch uncomfortably._

 _Shaking away thoughts of potential death with a casual sigh, he leaned back in his chair and took in the vibrant atmosphere of Yukaku, breathing in the sweltering air laced with sweat and alcohol._

 _We was a little tired from walking and the heat made him want stay in one place, but as soon as Jiang would come back Sokka was ready to put on the act again._

 _As richly clothed men and women passed him by under the red lamps of the of the street, he noticed someone odd walking among them._

 _It was a girl, not like the ones that stood in front of the bars or clung to the arms of patrons. She was plainly clothed, nothing but an unadorned tunic and worn pants, with a scarf draped around her face. Sokka couldn't tell from the red light but the scarf almost looked yellow, with a strange symbol where her mouth was supposed to be._

 _As she made her way through the crowds, Sokka noticed something heavy hanging from her shoulder – a satchel. In a way she looked like an ordinary local passing through the district on her way home, but it was clear to him she was walking his way._

 _His chest pounded as he breathed through his nose and the little hairs on his neck bristled. The girl's brow was as heavy as her satchel and as she drew closer to the bar Sokka could almost see the murder glinting in her eyes._

 _He sat up in his chair, his eyes darting to the soldiers and working girls lounging around near him, their laughter approaching hysteria, absorbed in their own little world of pleasure._

 _His eyes widened, mouth agape, his gaze swiftly turning back toward the crowds in the street, desperately searching for the girl. When they found her again, she was already pushing passed people, pulling a thin cord out of the satchel._

 _His metal chair tumbled backwards as he stood up, clanging against the cobblestones. He found Jiang making her way back toward his table, a bottle of Red Dragon's Brew in her hands, smiling at the soldiers as they made cat calls when she strutted by._

 _And then the satchel hissed through the air in front of him, a small stream of sparks fading in its wake._

 _With a desperately, deep breath, his heart pounding, Sokka yelled as loud as he could over the deafening crowds._

" _Bomb, bomb! Everyone get do-"_

 _Within seconds there was a blinding orange flash and a deafening crack of thunder. Glass and metal cut through the air as the force of the impact blew Sokka back, shards slicing through his silken tunic._

 _Light filled his vision and his ears were ringing, the smell of fire engulfing him. Just as quickly as it came, the light and noise faded to nothing._

* * *

He awoke with a gasp as he sucked in air though his nose, bright rays of light filtering through the armored slits in the metal passenger cabin of the tank-train, specks of dust dancing in the close air.

He could hear the steel strain, with the sound of rocks pattering incessantly off the metal plates of the tank outside as it rumbled across dirt.

Sokka took in a calming breath as he sat up in his chair, rubbing his eyes, making sure not to brush his fingers too harshly against the cuts on his face.

"Bad dream?"

He blinked his eyes to find Captain Suki of the Kyoshi mercenaries sitting across from him in the cramped passenger cabin, a dismal look on her painted white face, her crisp grass-green uniform in stark contrast to the metal gray of the cabin, wondering why she should be so concerned about him.

"Nah, its nothing. This hunk of steel isn't the most comfortable thing to take a nap in."

He made a fist, tapping out a tune on the armored wall, managing an awkward smile.

"I know," she said, "I hope you're alright to entertain them today. The family won't appreciate you nodding off. That's not what I'm paying you for."

"What are you Captain, my _sister_?" Sokka retorted, "You're the one who asked me to come up to the Cage again as soon as I was discharged from the hospital."

"Yes, but now I'm not too sure anymore," she said, looking regretful, "Your cuts haven't healed yet and you've been dozing off every five minutes. Didn't you get any rest there?"

Sokka shrugged, uncaring. "Hard to sleep when you got an _entire ward_ filled wounded screamers. I swear it was like a chorus of shrieks at random moments in the night. Talk about _rude_."

"That's not funny, Sokka. Innocent people got _killed_ in that bombing. You're lucky you came out with just a couple of bruises and scratches."

A twinge of anger ran through him as the memory of Jiang vanishing in a flash of fire and smoke came back to him. He huffed, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms and slouched in his seat.

"Okay, first of all, _you're_ lucky I didn't blow off an arm or get a concussion or _die_ in that bombing. I mean, where else are you going to find a more charming entertainer than _me_ that can play the oud like a professional?"

"Sokka, that's not-"

"Second of all – innocent? I mean _really_? Who're you trying to defend here, Captain," He asked curtly, "No one who steps foot in Yukaku is innocent. They know why they come. Everyone there's got a dirty secret to hide and a _bad_ itch to scratch. You have _no idea_ how many ways we can scratch it for you."

"When I say _innocent_ , Sokka, I mean non-combatants," Suki hissed, her tone sharp and quick, "Those rebels that bombed the bar were aiming for the soldiers there. Its sick that they would terrorize people who aren't even fighting them."

For a mercenary, Sokka wondered why she had such high morals. Compared to the groups he ran into in the fractured Earth Kingdom years before he got stuck in the Fire Nation, the Kyoshi Warriors seemed too good.

"More like a pack of drunken kids in uniform, really," he said, shaking his head, "If Ol' Azulon thinks he can quash a rebellion with levies barely hitting puberty he's got another thing coming. And don't act like the rebels didn't know _non-combatants_ were gonna get caught in the blast."

"I didn't say-"

"Its terror, Captain. All about scaring the crap out of your enemy. Hit the rich and powerful in their playground, yeah? Blow 'em up where they think they're safe, where they least expect it, and you shake 'em up pretty good. You _know_ this. Basics, right?"

Suki sat up straight, crossing her arms in front of her breastplate, a hard scowl plastered on her face as he glared at him.

"You sympathize with their struggle," she said, her tone serious.

Sokka raised his hands up by his sides, feigning surrender.

"Y'got me, Captain," he smirked, "I admit it. I _do_ sympathize with the bastards that _mauled_ me. Clearly, I was meant to _writhed in agony_ while the doctors stitched me up, because it was obviously apart of a bigger plan to get me to join them."

Sokka rolled his eyes while Suki continued to glare at him. She looked like she wished the rebels had killed him.

He returned the gesture. "My night was ruined too, y'know. Wiping the blood out of your eyes and picking glass out of you ass tends to equate to what we in the Biz call A Really Bad Time."

Her eyes quickly narrowed and wandered to the many nobs and pipes clinging to the walls of the passenger cabin, her jaw tensing up as she grinded her teeth. Sokka could barely hear her growl over the rumbling of the tank's engine.

For a time neither of them spoke, refusing to look at each other, waiting for time to pass as they felt the tank-train lurch down hill over a rocky trail, making both of them lean in their seats.

Sokka occupied his time by staring up at the gauges jutting out from the cabin's ceiling, tightly clutching the oud he carried with him in a burgundy protective case on his lap.

Suki broke the silence. "You got a mouth on you, Sokka, you know that?"

He blinked a few times before raising an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Oh, so _that's_ what this damn thing is called! Thanks Captain _Obvious_ for finally naming one of the things that people _pay_ me to use."

She looked away as she rolled her eyes, letting a small, cynical chuckle escape her.

"Spirits, no wonder this screwed up family likes you being around them," she admitted, shaking her head slowly, "I guess you are feeling okay today."

"I'm a personable guy that attracts screwed up people, Captain," he shrugged, lazily smiling, "Just, uh, give me a glass of water or something quick to eat and maybe a pair of one of those round sun-glasses and I'll be okay."

Suki looked unsure of what he meant. "Why would you need sun-glasses?"

"Other than the fact I look _amazingly sexy_ with them on?" he asked rhetorically, "C'mon, Suki, I don't really want the family to ask questions about why I was sucker punched in the face by a flying brick."

She let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of her pale white nose.

"Fine," Suki said, reaching to the sash wrapped around her waist, pulling out a pair. "Mine are cheap anyway. You do know they're going to ask you questions anyway, right? Especially since you've been gone for longer than usual."

Sokka reached out and took the sunglasses, resting the frame on his forehead. He lightly rubbed his chin, grazing over the scabs, as he considered her words.

"I'll just play things by ear I guess. If they won't ask, then I won't tell," he shrugged.

"Good. And keep it brief and vague, like we agreed. This rebellion is _small_ , got it? Nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Sokka pouted wearily, rolling his eyes.

"Lady Ursa will appreciate the fact that you've returned," Suki continued, "She's had a rough week trying to keep her kids from tearing each other's throats out."

"Oh, the joy of _parenthood_."

"You might want to speak with her first if she's not with Lord Zuko. She could use the distraction… and maybe a drinking partner."

Sokka sighed, shaking his head. "Terrific. What about Lord Zuko and Lady Azula?"

"Zuko's been… _tolerable_. He's been less of a short fuse lately, but Lady Azula tends to ruin that pretty quickly. I set him straight and his mother counsels him. If you manage to get them together for five minutes without them bickering it would be a miracle."

There was something in the tone of her voice that seemed off to Sokka, though he couldn't quite place it.

"Since when are you on a first name basis with the guy, Captain?" he asked.

She blinked twice, her eyes wide. "What?"

"You called him Zuko. Just _Zuko_. You _friends_ with him now or something?"

For a moment Suki's face was blank. Then she shook her head, as if trying to wake herself out of a daze.

"It's been a long week, Sokka. I've had to manage my girls and try to keep the servants from getting hurt by the family. Well, by _one_ family member really. Sometimes it's a bit tiring using honorifics."

He wasn't convinced by her half-hearted excuse, but Sokka let it slide. If she had secrets to keep he'd find out eventually. It always made for juicy conversation.

"Sure thing, Captain," Sokka said, trying to sound as genuine as possible, "So, then… what about Lady Azula?"

Suki didn't look so pleased with that question. He could hear her growl audibly at the mention of her name.

"Just her _usual_ self," she said, muttering something profane under her breath. "You'll _definitely_ need to keep her occupied. I don't know how you manage to stand her company, but just do what you've always done, okay?"

A light smirk touched Sokka's lips, feeling a surge of excitement. "Hey, its part of the reason you pay me for, right? She's not the _worst_ I've had to spend time with. I mean she hasn't tried to throw a _bomb_ in my face while sipping wine. That's a plus."

"Give it some time then. _Everyone_ in the Cage pisses her off to some degree."

"I won't hold my breath."

A harsh grinding sound penetrated their ears, gears and pistons creaking under an enormous strain on the cabin as the tank-train came to a slow, grinding halt. Sokka could hear steam whistle through the pipes as pressure was released through exhaust ports, rocks crunching beneath treads as the steel beast settled into the dirt.

"Finally here," Sokka breathed, relieved, shouldering his instrument case, "'Bout time we got out of this stuffy metal box."

A red light flicked on and the massive ramp at the back of the passenger cabin slid open with a teeth-rattling screech, fresh air and a blinding light washing over Sokka as he and Suki stood up.

As the ramp finally dropped to the dirt, they made their way out into the afternoon sun, a clear sky overhead. Sokka breathed in the cool mountain air as a light gust blew past him, faint black dust whipping by.

His eyes adjusted to the light and he was greeted to a breathtaking sight.

He stood in the interior of a vast, extinct caldera, its jagged lips towering over him, the rock almost coal black, overtaken by patches of lush green grasses and bushes. He could barely make out the stark white pedals of panda lilies that grew along the wide mountain path carved into the steep cliffs.

He gazed outward across the ancient, deep blue lake, the calm waters rippling in the wind, listening to the silence of nature.

"Quite a view. Hard to believe there used to be lava in place of a lake," he said.

"Yeah," Suki agreed standing along side him, "But Mount Heilong won't erupt anytime soon. Come on, the family's waiting."

Turning away, Sokka followed Suki passed the resting tank-train along the path, gazing upon the imposing facade of the Black Cage.

It was palace and prison carved out of the rock of the caldera, the coal black structures clinging stubbornly to the cliff like a fire gecko. Each of the main buildings were closely clustered, the crimson roof tiles and enclosed terraces overlooking the lake, crowned by brilliant gold flame pagodas.

Sokka had seen palaces and estates before, but he had never known a prison could look so enchantingly beautiful.

"Y'know, I just gotta keep sayin' it, Captain," Sokka said, smiling mischievously at the Kyoshi Warrior as they walked.

Suki tried not to groan too much. "Please don't."

"If this prison, which I _still_ don't think is really a prison, were a woman-"

"Stop."

"- I'd take it out for a fancy dinner, right? Get to know her-"

"Please, shut up," She moaned between gritted teeth, trying to look composed.

"- And then I'd make sweet, _sweet_ love to her. I'm paying this place a compliment, Captain. It's a beautiful prison."

"Spirits almighty, Sokka, can you please just _stop talking_ until we get inside?"

He answered her with a hearty chuckle, ignoring her irritation.

They came to the small yet fortified gate guarding the only entrance to the Black Cage, Kyoshi Warriors manning emplaced repeating crossbows along the ramparts, looking down on the pair as they approached.

"Open the gate!" Suki ordered.

Slowly, rusted iron creaked at the hinges as the noise echoed through the air.

"Show time, pretty boy," she said, taking in a short breath, clasping the hilt of her sword hanging off her hip. "Lets see if you're still worth the taels we waste on you."

Sokka smirked, a finger flipping the round sunglasses down over his eyes.

"Keep wasting 'em."

* * *

A cool breeze washed over Azula, making the wind chimes hanging nearby in the small, secluded courtyard play a melodious, lonely tune, the afternoon sun setting over the distant horizon.

Sweat trickled down her forehead and her sleeveless red training tunic and pants clung to her skin, permeated by her own odor. It didn't matter to her. It could be the scent of determination for all she cared. Azula just wanted an excuse to move _,_ to fight, to release her energy.

She went through the over-practiced motions of one last form, taking the calming breaths required for the move, halting to momentum of her aggression used to give her strength through her entire training session.

She struck her stance, as if riding a horse, planting her feet firmly against the smooth white-stone tiles. Closing her eyes and extending her arms out, she swayed from left to right in graceful circles and for a fleeting moment Azula thought she could feel the chi within her flow through her arms.

A mantra incessantly repeated itself in her mind, willing her to let go of her emotions, to concentrate, to isolate, to separate.

She could feel something deep within her desperate to break out, to surge forward in a blinding flash of light. Her heart pounding, she rapidly shot out her right arm, her two fingers extended, the nails of the other two sinking deep into her palm.

Nothing.

No lightning streamed from her arm, no blue spark of fire, not even a hint of warmth. The wall she aimed at was still there, the cold wind making her shutter, loose strands of hair falling from her topknot.

She caught her breath, wiping the strands of hair from her eyes, her jaw tightening into a grimace. She glared down at the metal gauntlet on her right forearm, making a fist as her muscles flexed. She could feel the studs embedded in the inside of the gauntlet dig into her skin, closing off every vital pressure point to inhibit the flow of chi.

Azula growled between her teeth. "Damn it…"

It was futile. She would run herself into exhaustion if she kept this up any longer. It angered her, but just as she was imprisoned in a cage of stone, her energy to bend fire was effectively trapped.

Blinking, she could hear footsteps echo through the courtyard near its entrance. She found Captain Suki and two other Kyoshi mercenaries flanking her, hands on the grips of their swords hanging at their waists.

Suki bowed her head just enough to make it seem respectful, her eyes briefly drifting to the gauntlets on her forearms. Azula could have sworn she saw her red lips curve into a smirk, proud that the gauntlets she had placed on her and her brother were doing their job.

"Lady Azula," Suki said briefly.

The former princess didn't return the gesture, only glaring at her as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"What do _you_ want?" her voice threatening.

"I've come to tell you that your usual entertainment for the evening has returned."

Azula felt a sudden, ecstatic jolt course through her chest that heated her blood. She crushed the feeling with a short intake of breath. She would not give the captain the satisfaction of looking excited.

"I see. I suppose mother and Zuko are already _enjoying_ his company."

"Lady Ursa is already in the Celestial Room with Sokka, but Lord Zuko will not be joining them," Suki said, her tone bearing subtle anger, her grip on the hilt of her sword tightening, "She said he was still tending to an injury he got during a sparing session with you while I was away."

Azula smiled viciously. "He bruises _so_ easily, Captain, and he complains to mother about every little bump I give him. He can wallow in his pain for all I care. He clearly cannot keep up with me as a sparing partner. I am too advanced for him. Perhaps one of _your_ warriors is more on par with him."

Suki's eyes narrowed and Azula could see her jaw tightening behind her nauseatingly white face paint.

"Duly noted, Lady Azula," she said, practically hissing, "Will you not be joining your mother in the Celestial Room this evening then?"

It was a more complicated question than Azula was willing to admit. Her mind was a whirlwind of anger and bitterness, the image of her mother scolding her burned into her memory. She fought the urge to hide away from the world.

Azula ruminated on her response for too long and Suki took advantage of her apparent discomfort.

"They're only drinking tonight, Lady Azula," she said with the faintest hint of a smirk, "And Sokka brought the oud with him. It seems he's had a tiring week as well. Don't think too much on it."

A searing spark was lit in Azula's chest and she felt a powerful urge to watch the captain slowly burn in a blaze of blue fire. She glowered at Suki, keeping her breathing even, wanting nothing more than to watch the girl suffer.

"I will be joining them for the evening, Captain," Azula stated, "Just as soon as I am dressed."

"Very well, Lady Azula, I will let them know you'll be on your way as soon as you're ready."

"Good. Then you had better get to it, _Captain_ ," Azula said, walking passed Suki, "I know how _eager_ you must be to check up on my brother."

Before Azula went down the hall toward her room in the eastern wing, she caught a glimpse of Suki's eyes widening in shock. She smirked, hearing Suki's growl echo through the hallway.

* * *

The Celestial Room was lavishly furnished with some the most exquisite pieces the Black Cage had to offer.

The walls were painted a deep crimson red, festooned with brightly colored murals and intricate golden designs. Burgundy pillows lay about on the lush, cushioned floor, the embroidered symbol of the Fire Nation adorned upon the carpets. Gauzy red curtains hung from the ceiling along side brass chandeliers, fresh candles burning in the evening light as it filtered through intricate wrought iron grills.

At the center of it all was a low-lying table made of varnished ash-black wood, the scent of salted pistachios and fresh fruits hovering pleasantly through the room, laid next burgundy bottles of grape wine.

Azula entered to the sound of clinking glasses and laughter, struck by how much it resembled a typical room in her old villa in the capital city just before her family was forced to live in the Cage.

She pushed those memories aside, refusing to think back upon those days with a false sense of nostalgia. All she wanted to focus on was the present moment, humming with anticipation for what the evening may promise for herself.

Approaching the table at the center of the room with an air of confidence, the fiery ache in her chest returned, her keen yellow eyes raking voraciously over the boy laughing with her insufferable mother.

He wore a black changshan and loose fitting red pants that sheened in the evening light, collar and sleeves bordered in gold, hair tied up into a traditional Fire Nation topknot crowned by a small flame hairpiece. Handsome in the formal sense to be sure, but she much preferred his hair down and messy with her long fingers tangled within the strands.

Her mother was unsurprisingly conservative, wearing comfortable, courtly robes with long loose sleeves, a carry-over from the days before their imprisonment, when they could still be called royalty.

Azula was, unfortunately, no different, dressed in dark crimson robes with loose fitting sleeves that covered the chi-blocking gauntlets on her forearms, the gold trimmed mandarin collar irritating her neck, her hair immaculately tied up in the traditional royal topknot.

Sokka turned his shaded eyes away from her mother as they lay on the cushions, setting the cup he'd been drink from down on the table and standing up from his seat.

"Hey, there she is!" Sokka gushed, a wide grin on his face as he bow, extending his arms out as he did so, "Its good to see you again, m'lady."

It was oddly more respectful than Suki's attempt at a bow, but perhaps it was because Azula absolutely _loathed_ the captain. She gave a small, self-satisfied smile, pleased with his gesture.

"I'm sure it _is_ good to me again, Sokka," Azula said, making the slightest effort to bow her head, hands folded behind her. "But I can only _imagine_ how much you have missed our family's company."

She turned to her mother, who was void of any expression as her deep yellow eyes scrutinized her, holding a bronze cup of wine in her delicate hands. The confident smile dropped from Azula's face and a bitter flame fanned in her heart.

"Mother," she stated in a controlled tone, devoid of emotion, "I have come to join you and Sokka this evening."

Her mother's gaze lingered on her, contemplating her words, before raising the cup of wine to her lips, taking a brief sip, and looking away from her as she put the cup down on the table.

"Then you had better _sit_ , my daughter," Ursa said, turning toward Sokka with a softer gaze, "As I said to you before, she and Zuko have had a _tiring_ day of training."

Sokka looked back to Azula and smiled knowingly, his hand wisely gesturing to the cushions opposite of Ursa.

"Always nice to relax a bit after a good sweat," he said.

Azula turned away from Ursa and made her way to the space across from her, sitting closer to Sokka and gently laying against one of the larger cushions. A brief flash of uncertainty crossed Sokka's face, his eyes darting to Ursa, before taking his seat again, reaching out to the wine bottle and pouring her daughter a cup.

"Even better to do so when one is with _pleasant_ company," Azula commented, staring at Ursa, "Would you agree, mother?"

She didn't look at Azula, taking her time as she picked a single pistachio from a bowl and gently placing it between her lips. She reclined back in the cushion she was sitting against, biting down on the nut with an audible crack, before leveling a searing gaze on her.

Azula tried not to scowl, waiting for a response as Sokka handed her a cup, the tips of their fingers brushing against each other.

"Of course I would. It's a shame Zuko is not here with us as well though," she said, reaching for her wine cup as she looked toward Sokka, "It may not seem obvious, but he does enjoy when you play the oud. You're quite good at it."

Azula rolled her eyes after sipping a bit of wine. "I believe brother is still sulking in his room, mother. I cannot imagine _why_ , really. Did Captain Suki not _inform_ him that we would be having entertainment for the evening?"

Ursa was expressionless, staring at Azula. "You know as well as I do he is still healing from his sparring session with you."

She casually studied the elaborate design on her wine cup. "Such a fragile boy when it comes to his pride, really. Barely scratch him and his spirit to fight just _drains_ away. He leaves himself open far too much, mother. I am honestly just showing him the necessity of being more aggressive."

"You drew his _blood_ ," Ursa stated, her tone as hard as stone, her gaze toward Azula unblinking. "Made him spit it out through his teeth."

"He did the same to me in a previous sparring session," Azula shrugged casually, drinking more of her wine, "A cut on my lip. One of his rare, _lucky_ moments of course, and yet here I am, out and about, enjoying _fine_ company while he mopes around in his room."

She could see her mother's jaw subtly tighten and her brow become heavier. Azula brushed it off, taking a long sip from her cup before gently placing it on the table, plucking grape from a bowl and eating it.

Sokka was silent, ruminating on the proper words to break the tension, before Ursa placed her cup down on the table.

She broke the brief silence, making her voice as pleasant as possible.

"Perhaps I should check on him then. I wouldn't want him to feel down after all," she said, looking away from Azula as she stood up.

Ursa smiled politely at Sokka. "I'm so glad we could catch up again, Sokka. I look forward to your next visit. Please, take care of yourself."

"Of course, Lady Ursa," Sokka managed awkwardly, smiling at her. "Have a good evening."

As her mother turned to leave, Azula could see the anger flicker behind her yellow eyes as she shot her a brief glare, making her way out of the room.

Silence hung in the air as both Sokka and Azula sat among the cushions, watching the sliding door to the Celestial Room close a loud crack.

" _Finally_ ," Azula breathed, taking her cup and drowning the anger she felt with a gulp of wine. "I thought she would never leave. Mother is _so_ tiresome, really."

Sokka raised an eyebrow as he turned to her. "Well, she was only here with me for an hour before you came. Just drinking and talking."

"That's long enough for her," Azula said, setting down the cup on the cushioned floor, inching her way toward him, a playful smirk curling her lips, "And now I have you to myself."

Sokka's eyes widened as Azula pressed her fingers to his chest, making him lean back against the large burgundy cushion where he sat. Then, her hands glided to his knees, pushing them apart as she made him open his legs.

"Uh, what are you doing?" asked Sokka, his face going red as Azula smiled mischievously to herself.

"Is it not _obvious_ to you yet?" she asked him, standing on her knees.

"I have, like, several things going through my mind on what you're trying to do," Sokka said, extending his arms out and resting them on the wide cushion in back of him. "I mean I know you must've missed me but-"

"You really have an _imaginative_ mine, don't you?" she smirked.

Grabbing a bowl of grapes behind her, she inched her way toward him, nestling in the space between his legs, resting her back against his chest and settling her palms on his legs like armrests, setting the bowl of grapes beside them.

"Ah, _much_ better," she breathed contently, the back of her head resting on his left shoulder, practically melting into him. "You make a good chair."

"Oh, joy, my life's work has paid off," Sokka said, her lustrous black hair brushing against his cheek, "I have finally become a piece of furniture."

She chuckled at the apt remark, his firm, wiry body humming warmly against her own, feeling a familiar, tantalizing purr escape from her.

"You are my throne for the evening," she smirked, reaching up to kiss his neck just below his left ear. "The highest class of furniture."

The warmth of his skin tingled her lips, leaving a light smear of red lipstick where she kissed him.

"Gonna paint me in gold too?" he asked, "I heard that makes anything _extra_ classy."

"Not quite," she said, crossing her legs as she settled into him, snapping her fingers and pointing at the bowl of grapes. "Feed me."

Shrugging, Sokka complied and picked a fresh grape out of the bowl. Azula opened her mouth as he brought it to her lips, but just as she was about to bite he pulled it away at the last second.

He chuckled. "Oop, so much for reflexes, huh?"

She smirked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "Funny guy."

"I'm _hilarious_ actually."

When he brought the grape to her lips again he snatched it away a second time, giggling like an amused child playing with a cat. Azula slapped his knee lightly, shaking her head.

"You play with fire, boy," she teased, "Watch out – you might get _hurt_."

"Ooh, so _intimidating_ ," he said, playing with the grape between his fingers. "To bad for you I'm not scared of getting a little _burned_."

Azula smiled fiendishly at him, her right hand gliding to rub his neck affectionately, grazing against the scabs and cuts.

This time she was able eat her grape and for a while she ate in blissful peace, closing her eyes and resting her head on Sokka's shoulder, chewing slowly, letting it all sink in.

The fatigue from Azula's training earlier that day began to crawl over her, her joints aching in small places on her body, but she could not feel more relaxed than at that moment, with succulent food to eat and a warm boy to rest upon.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him as he reached for another grape, taking a slow deep breath as she folded her hands in her lap.

"So…"

"Yeah?"

"When were you going to tell me how you got those cuts on your face?"

Sokka briefly froze just as he was about to take another grape. He plucked it from the bowl and held it to her waiting mouth as her deep yellow eyes studied him.

He was quiet, thinking of the answer as he hummed awkwardly.

Azula swallowed the grape. "And those _stupid_ sunglasses… have you suddenly gone _blind_?"

He bit his lip and smiled at her. "Didn't think it was important enough to bring up."

"Ah, but it was worth telling my _mother_ about?" she asked pointedly, almost glaring at him.

"… Well, you got me there," Sokka admitted.

"Of course I do," Azula said, reaching her hand up to his chin, making him look at her. "Take them off. I want to see your eyes."

Sokka's lips pursed, looking unsure. He finally relented with a deep sigh, taking them off with both hands.

She found his left eye heavily bruised and purple, while his right eye had scabs healing around it, the eye itself slightly red.

Her jaw tensed with rage as she let go of his chin. She felt a desire to run a bolt of lightning through someone.

"Tell me," she said. It wasn't a question.

He looked at her, contemplating his words, before looking toward the door. The wood creaked outside as someone, most likely a Kyoshi mercenary, passed by.

He kept his voice low. "Someone bombed a bar in Yukaku when I was out one night. I got caught in the blast. My club owner made me stay in a hospital to get patched up."

She kept a cool exterior as she listened, but every word made her want to kill the people who cut her boy's face.

"Who did it," she asked, her jaw tightening.

"Just some rebel," he said, his eyes drifting away from her, looking distant, as he seemed to recall a gruesome memory.

Azula was livid. Her grandfather was too old and incompetent to stop things like this from happening and for whatever reason Sokka was out that night, she could guarantee herself that it was with some lecherous, aging noblewoman.

She wanted to burn something so badly. The studs pressing against her forearms and legs from the gauntlets only fanned the twisted desire.

"And so you live another day," she said.

Sokka blinked, shaking himself out of his daze, gazing down at her.

"Yeah. Another day a prisoner, living like a privileged guest," he said, looking thoughtful.

"Same as me?" she asked, reaching up to stroke his chin, grazing her thumb against a cut.

"Yeah. Same as you," he said, smiling warmly at her, wrapping his firm arms around her as he pulled her close, his warm chest pressing against her back.

She felt something in that moment, the blue in his eyes staring back at her. It was as if his smile told her of an unspoken, fervid connection, a sense of being reassured, that he was undeniably prejudiced in her favor.

She relished the feeling of his arms around her, her chest thrumming ardently. Azula leaned her head back against his shoulder, tasting the warmth of his skin with her lips, her right hand clasping the back of his head.

He was so intoxicatingly sweet and she purred when his lips found hers, his palms pressed against the silk of her robes as they glided up from her stomach toward her chest, his waist teasingly grinding against her lower back.

Azula didn't feel so tired anymore and the memory of earlier events that day seemed to slip away.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thank you for reading! See you next Saturday!

If you would like to see more Sokkla writing challenge, please visit The Crying Demon: Sokkla Forum here on FF, where we have a variety of challenges listed.

Check out PurplePlatypusBear21's "Blue Eyes, Blue Fire" or Clarielparke's "Saturnalia" for more Sokkla Saturdays content.


	3. Chapter 3: Song

**\- Song -**

* * *

Azulon was no stranger to the sight of blood.

For most of his life he had built his reign upon the bodies of his enemies. Shedding their blood for the sake of order within his nation, after so many years, had numbed him.

As a prince, he had fought Water Tribe corsairs off the northern coast of the Fire Nation, blood staining his hands for the first time, the burning wood from sinking ships in the salty air lingering in his memory.

As Fire Lord, in the prime of his youth, when he was likened to a great dragon, he had fought the warrior nuns of the Western Air Temple, blood and sand stinging his eyes under the tropical sun, the Avatar having to step in to put an end to his attempt to seize land.

Closing his eyes, he let the past echo through him. It had all seemed like a long, glorious dream, memories shining and fading from one to the next. In each one he was young, power and vitality resonating through him, fueling the fire of his ambitions.

He opened his eyes, heavy with age. That was long ago. The blood had dried, cleaned from his hands. His achievements had past into history, written into books and made into monuments to glorify his reign.

He was old, too gray and too pale. His bones felt as if they would shatter with every trot as he rode in the saddle of his komodo-rhino along the trail, his gold crown hairpiece like a lead weight pressing down against his head.

Someone younger was needed to shed blood for him now, to keep his legacy and his nation safe. If only they had the stomach to endure it.

Stoically erect in the saddle of his mount and flanked by a massive retinue of royal guards and aides, Fire Lord Azulon regarded the devastated lands around him with an unflinching countenance.

Smoke from a nearby pit rose into the hazy brown sky, the flames consuming the flesh and gases of broken bodies as they sizzled and popped in the sweltering sun. A pair of Fire Nation soldiers, their crimson tunics faded to a sickly brown as they covered their faces with scarfs, threw another body unceremoniously into the fire, embers kicked into the air.

Some of the aides around Azulon gagged at the sight, others covering noses. Azulon merely looked ahead, gazing over the vast wastes of the central highlands dotted by the detritus of war.

Bodies scattered in the black volcanic dirt lay scorched near the entrances of caves, tangled in heaps along the slopes as if they had fallen in a death struggle, flies droning over open wounds. Some were blown to charred pieces next to fresh craters, a hand or a hob-nailed foot lying in the sun in dark shreds.

Fire Nation soldiers meandered about, picking their dead comrades clean of armor and valuables like vulture-wasps, some laying them in neat red rows, counting their losses. Others merely sat in the black dirt, their armor and uniforms torn to shreds, eyes aimlessly staring ahead of them into unknown distances.

Azulon looked on beyond the carnage around him, surveying a large, rocky hill that dominated the surrounding plateau. High atop its charred peak, above the smoke that clung to it, was a lone red banner fluttering in the wind on a tall pole.

The Fire Lord squinted his eyes. "There?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said a nearby aide, lumbering along side him on his komodo-rhino, "Saidan Hill. Prince Iroh is encamped at the top."

He nodded, faded yellow eyes drifting to the red banner flying above the smoke, his dried lips pursed into a grimace.

"Very well. Let us not waste time. I would rather speak to the prince under the shade of his tent rather than melt in this blasted heat," he said, snapping the reigns.

The climb was arduous and the rhinos stumbled over loose rocks, each step made worse for their riders by the relentless heat as they dismounted to lead them over the precarious ground. Azulon's tunic clung to his skin and armor as he remained seated in the saddle, but he stoically endured, keeping his posture erect as his pale skin burned in the sun.

Off in the distance along the slope Azulon could see loyalist soldiers scampering over the rocks, taking cover as an explosion vibrated the ground beneath his rhino's feet. Black dust poured into the air as a lone fire-bender broke from cover, bathing the stones in streams of fire.

"Must be a cave entrance, Your Majesty," an aide commented beside Azulon, "The Prince said in his message that the hill was honeycombed with them. Perhaps it is not secured yet."

Azulon sniffed incredulously. "Unacceptable. It is one thing to consolidate one's gains after a victory. It is another to halt one's advances to give the enemy time to breath."

Rage flickering in his chest, Azulon urged his rhino forward and up the hill, the pop of fuse bombs detonating underground booming through the air, smoke from the nearby flames carrying the scent of burning flesh.

Azulon's retinue climbed over the crest of the hill, greeted to the sight of makeshift red tents clustered around the rusty flagpole, debris and litter scattered in the dirt. Haggard looking officers and enlisted men crumpled to their knees as Azulon passed them atop his mount, an aide on foot at his side as he attempted help him off the hulking gray beast.

Azulon swatted the man's hand away. "Do not touch me, you fool! I am not so old as to require assistance from you to dismount this bloody thing."

Lifting a sore leg over the right side of the saddle, Azulon's feet landed firmly in the rocky soil, his bones straining, as if they would shatter.

He regained his composure and looked around him, scanning the bowed heads and backs of the miserable soldiers that made up his son's army.

Azulon eyed the faded gold piping of the ranking officer among the mass of soldiers, making his way toward him, flanked by his guards.

"You, soldier," he rasped curtly, "Where is the prince? Why has he not greeted me upon my arrival?"

The man raised his head, his grizzled face like worn leather. "Your Majesty, the prince is… still in mourning. He's just across from the command tent. He hasn't issued any orders to the army and we are still attempting to clear the surrounding caves."

Anger flared within him, making him scowl. "Take me to him."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" the officer complied, standing up as he lead the Fire Lord and his guards toward Iroh.

As they made their way through the thinning crowds of soldiers returning to their duties, the officer stopped in front of a worn tent, the symbol of the Fire Nation emblazoned on the entrance faded to a dark gray, spattered by mud.

The officer lifted one of the flaps as he peeked inside, his voice like a whisper. For a while there seemed to be no response until the officer looked back his Fire Lord.

"Apologies for the informality, Your Majesty," the officer said, bowing his head, fear washing over him as Azulon glared, "Prince Iroh has… not been well these past few days. He says he would have prepared for your arrival better."

The Fire Lord crossed arms. "No doubt he would. It is an insult not to prepare properly for a visit from your liege. Now _move_ , soldier."

The officer stepped away with a fearful look in his eyes, making sure to bow as the Fire Lord entered Iroh's tent, his guards trailing behind him.

Bright rays of light filtered through small holes in the tent, illuminating the ground in yellow patches, the wind from outside blowing against the tarps. It was dark, save for a few candles that burned dimly on either sides of a cot, the scent of incense mingling with the faint odor of death.

Knelt in silence, Iroh had pressed his hands together in prayer beside a body wrapped in white cloth on the cot. Azulon could hear his son mumble, his head cast down, intermittent sobs breaking the flow of his words.

Singing. He was singing to the corpse in front of him.

"…Like fragile, tiny shells drifting through the foam; Little soldier boy, come marching home; Brave soldier boy, comes marching home…"

With those last words the elderly prince grew silent. There was nothing but the warm wind blowing against the tent and the gentle wisp of dim candles in the dark.

Iroh barely lifted his head, his body weighted down by the grief that overtook him, setting his hands in his lap.

"Father," he said, his voice cracking with sorrow. He did not stand to turn and bow to him.

"Iroh," The Fire Lord rasped, slowly walking closer to him.

"Forgive me, father. I have failed to prepare for your arrival."

"Indeed you have. Your officers say you are still in mourning."

He stood beside Iroh, looking upon the body in silent judgment, emotion drained from his face. He reached out his hand to clasp the cloth near the face before pulling it away.

Iroh eyes drifted up to his father. "I sent in Lu Ten's regiment for a second push to take this hill. Root out the rebels dug in to their caves. He led the assault personally."

What remained of his young grandson's face told him of the savagery of the fighting. He did not die a clean death.

Azulon folded the white cloth back over Lu Ten's face, folding his arms. Yet another member of his family has died. There is a pain in his chest, a shred of sadness, something that should have grown to overwhelm him, but just as suddenly as it came it faded away.

"Yes, you said as much in your battle report," Azulon sighed, "That was several days ago, when you said this hill was finally secured."

He looked down on his son, eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a scowl. Iroh looked back at him, but his gaze wavered. He could not look into his father's eyes and see the rage building behind them.

"And yet your men still scurry around the slopes trying to root out any holdouts," he said, his voice sharp like a swords edge, "While you have failed to give the rest of the army any orders to push on as the enemy slips from our grasp."

Iroh bowed his head, staring down at the fists in his lap, unable to speak to his father.

"And for what!? Huh!?" Azulon shouted, his anger finally boiling over, "Because your son died, because you have witnessed the full extent to his demise? You should be grateful, Iroh – the families of the soldiers who died here will never learn of how they were gloriously sacrificed in the name of victory."

Heat resonated off of Iroh as his glossy eyes widened, shock twisting into rage. He shot up from his seat on the dirt floor, reaching for the white cloth over his son's body before violently pulling it away.

"Is _this_ what you call glorious, father!?" Iroh cried out, his hand firmly waving over the remains of his son, "Is this what you call a glorious sacrifice!? Look what these rebels have done your grandson! I was lucky enough to have found this much of him left when I led the final assau-"

The Fire Lord's fist came down upon his son's face, tiny embers of fire fading in its wake. Iroh crumbled against the cot, catching himself from falling as he clung to edge near the body's feet.

"How _dare_ you speak to me that way," Azulon seethed, fists still clenched, "Get a hold of yourself, Iroh! Are you as weak-willed and as petty as your late brother? Did I raise a sniveling _coward_ , or a _dragon_ meant to be feared? Use your rage! Let your son's death rekindle your fighting spirit if that's what it takes! Press home the advantage you have gained and bring this rebellion to an end!"

Iroh tried to get up, but his feet shook and his balance wavered, knocking over the candles by his side. He leaned over the edge of the cot, his hand cling to what remained of his son's leg, letting his sorrow pour out as he hid his head.

"Pathetic," Azulon spat, listening to his son sob, "It seems my family is plagued by weaklings. You snatch a petty defeat from the jaws of victory, Iroh, and you have let it consume you. I thought I raised you _better_ than this."

He motioned his hand for the guards standing in the tent to come forward. Two came to Iroh's side as they hoisted him up by his feet, tears running down his cheeks.

"All I had… he was all I had left," he mumbled, eyes reluctant to turn away from Lu Ten's corpse.

Azulon shook his head in disgust. "Prince Iroh, you hereby relieved of your command. I will be finding some else that is suitable to take charge of operations in the highland wastes for here on out. Find your dignity before you leave this tent. My men will help you prepare to leave."

As he turned toward the tent flap, he took one of the guards aside as the rest prepared Iroh's belongings, keeping his voice low.

"See to it that the body is properly cremated," Azulon whispered, "Iroh has prayed too much. The body has languished enough."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the guard complied.

He made his way out of the tent and into the blistering sun, his retinue waiting by their mounts as they drank water from troughs in the camp. He sighed heavily, weighed down by his own fatigue.

"Why must I suffer such _tragedy_ at every turn?" he muttered to himself, kicking up black dust as he walked toward his komodo-rhino, soldiers and aides bowing as he passed.

If his own family wasn't trying to kill each other, then it seemed to Azulon that they would try to disappoint him through weakness and pettiness.

As he climbed atop his mount, being handed a canteen of fresh cold water from an aide, Azulon wondered if he was the only one amongst his family that was fit enough to endure the challenges of the times.

Azula did not particularly like the room she was currently in. She had always preferred the color of red to green. Red to her was like fire – it radiated power, ambition, determination, and passion, qualities that she felt had, no doubt, defined her.

Green was an ugly, earthy color. It reminded her of the patchy grass that clung to the distant black cliffs of the caldera just outside the barred windows, the uniforms worn by the warriors that kept watch over the Black Cage.

Yet, at that particular moment, she could afford to let her petty, unspoken prejudices regarding a mere color slide. It all seemed so foolish.

The afternoon sun shined through majestically carved grilled windows, golden light gleaming off the jade green walls in a myriad of patterns from eight-pointed stars to crescents. Foreign and exotic, nothing that would make a Fire Nation artisan want to copy unless explicitly ordered to.

She turned her head lazily to the side, brushing away the loose, messy strands of her hair to reveal walls covered in intricately painted murals of differing shades of green and gold. Her gaze drifted steadily across the room, each wall depicting legends and battles from lands across the seas, painted in peculiar, fluid styles.

A slow song drifted through the warm air that mingled with the sweet scent phoenix honey tea, calming her nerves, relaxing the tense muscles straining under the pressure of her chi-blocking gauntlets. Her body was incredibly warm and everything seemed to slow down, like she was slowly being pulled away into another world, energy flowing out of her through each bead of sweat that ran down her skin.

At that moment, lying among the different shades of green pillows at the center of the cushioned floor, Azula was free.

"How you feeling?" a voice said beside her.

A smile, like one who looked out passed the windows of a conquered palace to gaze upon the vast pristine lands she has taken.

"Magnificent," Azula breathed, arching her back as she stretched, gazing up at the intricately decorated green and gold arabesque carved into the ceiling.

Sokka chuckled, lightly strumming the strings of his oud until he ended his song on a peaceful note, resting his hand on the weatherworn wood.

He reached out for the silver teapot close between them, pouring another cup, letting the steam rise and the heat settle before bringing the cup to lips.

"Its imported y'know," Sokka said, the tea warming his belly, leaving a smooth after taste in his mouth, "Can't find this kind of tea in the Fire Nation. People drink this stuff like its water back in Yukaku."

"Odd, considering its name," Azula slid her hands to the back her head as she rested on her pillow, letting the light red silk of her robe glide down against her legs as she crossed them, seemingly fascinated by the ceiling.

"Not a very popular flavor in the Earth Kingdom – uh, I mean, Earth _Kingdoms_ ," Sokka corrected himself, setting down his cup "Kind of illegal too in way, depending which kingdom is growing the stuff. There's only a market for it because you fire folk are addicted to it."

Azula rolled her head to her right, eyeing the boy curiously as he reclined his back against a particularly large cushion, sipping his tea. He seemed as foreign as the room, wearing a jade colored, circular collared robe adorned with gold patterns, with loose white pants and mid-cloth boots.

"Escort, oudist, _and_ businessman," Azula smirked mischievously at him, "Next you will tell me you were an advisor, a warrior, and a court poet."

"Ah, don't forget highwayman, kidnapper, hunter, savage, servant, and slave," Sokka smiled, winking at her, "But lets keep the roleplaying fantasies of noblewomen who come to Yukaku to ourselves, huh?"

A small spark ignited in Azula, almost burning away the pleasant effects of the tea as she pictured other women pawing at her boy, but she snuffed it out, as if it meant nothing to her.

He raised herself up by her elbows and turned on her side, resting her head in her palm she reached for the silver cup of warm tea beside her, ravenous eyes looking over Sokka, thinking how much better he looked in red.

"But of course," Azula said, "The carnal proclivities of nobles must be kept out of the light, lest they be spread through rumor and used as entertainment for bored exiles."

"Oh yeah, _especially_ those people," Sokka agreed, "Can't let them know about that stuff. They'll get funny ideas and might want to _experiment_ a bit."

A knowing smile as Azula sipped her tea. "You play the roles so well, boy. So _very_ versatile, so _fun_ to play with. I am inclined to think you have had actual experience in each at point or another."

"I might've," Sokka admitted, looking thoughtful, "Though, I might _not_ have. Most noblewomen don't tend to find me interesting beyond all this."

He broadly circled his hand around himself.

Azula raised her eyebrow, taking another sip from her cup before sitting up. "Hard to argue with that, admittedly. I am not like those lecherous women, of course."

" _Clearly_ ," Sokka said almost rolling his eyes, "But you've got something the others don't – youthful beauty. They'd _kill_ to look as gorgeous as you in just a simple red robe with no make-up."

He leaned forward, reaching out to brush his fingers gently against her chin. "Any man would kill too if it meant being close to you. They'd wade through thorns and battle the toughest enemies if they had to."

A weight in her chest was lifted and Azula felt as if she could breathe. It was as pleasant warm as the tea.

She shook her head, smirking as he pulling away his hand. "There is much sugar in your lies, boy."

"And you've got quite a sweet tooth," Sokka smiled, winking dramatically.

Looking mischievous, she made her way toward the long cushion he was resting against, curling up close to him as she leaned on her side, smoothing out the wrinkles in her robe, the light-headed blurriness settling.

"Tell me," she purred, playing with the buttons near his collar, "How does one like you happen upon an old oud like yours?"

Sokka raised an eyebrow, feeling the buttons unclasp. "My oud?"

"Surely the man who practically _owns_ you allows the profits heis making to come trickling back to you," Azula said, pushing away the fabric as she traced her fingers across an old scar on his collarbone, "Or is he just a greedy man?"

Sokka considered her words as she began to rub his chest.

"As greedy as my club owner is, this old thing," he patted the wooden neck, the strings coming to life at is touch, "Has been with me for a long time. I'm a bit sentimental I guess. Long story."

"Still doesn't answer my question," Azula played with one of his loose buttons idly, sounding bored.

Sokka ruminated on this, finally shrugging. "Like I said it's a bit of a long story. If I tell you, then I'd have to play you song as well. Goes along with it."

Azula rolled her eyes lazily, taking her hand away from his chest. "Must you complicate things? Are you _that_ reluctant to just _tell_ me? It is not as if others will find your story interesting."

"How _flattering_ of you," Sokka said, "Nah, its not that really. I've just never gotten an excuse play this song."

Azula sighed, sitting up as she reached for the silver teapot and poured another cup, blowing at the steam as she settled against cushion.

"Very well," she relented, "If you insist upon it. It had better be a song worth listening to."

Sokka chuckled as he rolled his eyes, putting the oud on his lap as he twisted the knobs at the end of the wooden neck, plucking at the strings to tune it.

"Now, I want you to imagine a boy," he began, "Not as handsome as yours truly of course, but, hey, he's definitely a looker nonetheless."

Azula rolled her eyes yet again, settling in. "Yes, fine, it is a boy, and he's off to travel the world. I and so many other girls have heard this before."

"Actually, that boy didn't want to go on an adventure," he said, "In fact, he was perfectly okay with staying right where he was. After all, living day by day on a desolate tundra where your source of food can kill you provided its own deadly adventures."

Her interest slightly piqued, Azula raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her tea.

Sokka continued. "His home was on the far side of the world, where the seas were more frigid than ice water running down your throat on a hot day and the air colder and windier than in the worst parts of the typhoon season."

"Impossible! Surely you exaggerate," Azula stated.

"Nope. I mean, sure, you've probably read about it before, but to actually _feel_ it, to feel the wind steal your breath away as if it had been wrenched from your throat by cold fingers, to feel the blood in your veins slow as if slogging through mud, to see your skin turn purple as every part of you goes numb, begging for a fire to warm you up – Nah, its no exaggeration, it was just a fact of life for the boy."

A dread fascination crept over Azula. She knew outsiders to the Fire Nation regarded her homeland as an unbearably hot, mosquito-infested, malaria-ridden cluster of volcanic islands. Listening to someone speak of a place so different from her own, where only the fittest could possibly hope to survive, intrigued her greatly. She imagined she was strong enough to survive.

Sokka continued, "Nights could last for weeks as the wind howled outside huts cut out of packed snow and you would swear you could hear the wolves baying hungrily, just waiting for a chance to eat someone foolish enough to go out into the dark alone. If the wolves couldn't get you, then a war party of enemy tribesmen would, braving the dark so they can strike when you're weakest."

"A savage land," Azula said, the faintest hint of a smirk twisting her red lips.

"Definitely," Sokka agreed, taking a sip of his tea to clear his throat, "And that's where the boy lived for most of his life. Y'see, he was a hunter and a pretty good one at that. He could track, trap, stab, and skin anything on the tundra, helping his family and tribe get by with what little he could find. Food was hard to come by for the boy, no matter how far he went to find it, with larger tribes laying claim to the biggest hunting grounds, hogging it all.

"Sometimes, when he could, he traded the best furs he had for weapons and food with seafaring merchants. And boy, did they love those furs! So much so they kept asking him for more and he learned a thing or two about trading after that, seeing which pelts and how many of 'em could give him the stuff he needed.

"Something changed one day. You see the boy fell in love with a girl from his village, a friend of his sister's named Nutha. He thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes upon, with hair as black as a clear and starry night, eyes as blue as the sea, and freckles like a baby tiger-seal."

Azula stifled an urge to groan, a surge of jealously coursing through her.

"She sounds unimpressive for a tribal girl," Azula shrugged, circling the rim of her teacup with her finger.

"…Well, at the time, the boy thought she was beautiful, but the girl was not so important as what the boy wanted to do for her," Sokka continued awkwardly, "Since he knew her already, he wanted to make his confession that much more special. He had heard the merchants play songs on their ships while he traded for goods and was awestruck by their skill. He had never known music like that could exist in the whole world."

He tenderly patted the neck of the oud with his palm, sliding it gently over the wood.

"And no tunes impressed him more than the kinds made with _this_ instrument. It was exotic, hypnotic even, music that put the glow of the sun in his heart or the longing for a girl in his mind. He wanted to learn from them, to play like the merchants, to show his love for the girl in a way no one had ever done in his village."

"What a naïve boy he must have been," Azula shrugged, taking another sip of her tea.

Sokka was quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful. "In more ways than one. After a time, he had gain the merchants trust and they taught him how to play. He learned fast, some of them even said he was a natural. The boy couldn't be any more happier… and that's when trouble began for him."

Mimicking a club in his hand, Sokka balled his fingers into a fist and brought it down onto his open palm.

"They hit him over the head with a club one night after they had convinced him to join them for drinks. He knew these men by now, trusted them. He never thought they would betray him like they did that night. When he woke up sometime later, the boy was freezing below the ship, put in chains and packed in along side other tribesmen like cargo."

For a moment Sokka said nothing, his eyes distant, caught up in his memories.

Azula stared, fingers tightening over her silver cup, a spark flaring behind her eyes at the thought of being betrayed.

"The boy should have known better than to trust others," Azula stated.

Sokka blinked, as if roused from a daydream, shrugging casually, "Heh. Like you said – a naïve boy, right?"

He reached for the silver teapot beside him and poured another cup. "When they took up him above the deck with the rest of the tribesmen, the boy found he was in a foreign land, where the sun was hot and bright, where the people were dressed in shades of green.

"They stripped him of his clothes and washed him with a rough brush, cutting his skin. They forced him up onto a stand shackled in chains, where crowds bided over prices like he was an animal.

"Eventually, a family bought the boy, one with wealth and land. Turns out he was worth a bit more since his captors advertised that he could play an instrument.

"'This here skimo boy is worth ev'ry coin y'pay for,' they said. 'He's too skinny t'be an outdoor skimo pickin' tea leaves in the fields, he's meant for the manor where he'll play you a sweet tune, make for fine living' they said."

He brought his cup to his lips, slowly sipping his tea, letting the flavor linger for a while on his tongue.

He sighed deeply. "And just like that, the boy was made a slave… taken to a plantation in one of the Earth Kingdoms, over deserts and mountains, far away from his home. All because he wanted to play a song."

Sokka looked to his side and reached for the oud, setting it in his lap as his fingers rested on the strings. He took a deep breath, finding his rhythm, and gently strummed the strings.

It began slowly, each note drawn out, calling back to the distant past as the tune hovered in the warm air, bringing back memories.

He picked up the pace with every pluck of the string as his fingers danced along the neck of the oud like the scampering legs of a spider. His eyes were closed, lost in the melody, each note carrying with it a measure of his sorrow and his will to carry on, hoping for an escape.

Azula reclined in the cushion beside him, captivated despite it all. It was as if he put every fiber of his being into the song, sharing with her his story, letting the emotions pour out of him. Had he been a firebender, she imagined she would have been enthralled by the energy he exuded.

And then the melody slowed to a sorrowful pace. Azula felt a sense of longing, as if she was gazing out over the vast lake of the caldera, looking above the lip of the jagged peaks through the gilded bars of her window.

Azula laid her back against the cushion, setting her teacup down beside her as she looked upon the green and gold murals painted on the walls. She yearned to take hold of her desire to escape, to slip free of her gauntlets and soar high above the black walls, never looking back, claiming for herself a place in the world.

Yet as the song faded, the room cast in silence, there was a single, desperate question that lingered in her mind as her gaze settled on the boy with the oud.

 _Would he come with me?_

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thanks for being patient and reading this latest entry! See you all next time for the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4: Wine

**A/N:**

As of this chapter, this story will be rated M for upcoming content. Please, read at at your own discretion.

* * *

 **\- Wine -**

* * *

The heat clung to her skin even in the shaded cloister bordering the courtyard, the afternoon sun casting long, dark shadows over the polished stone, the black cliffs towering above the walls like the teeth of a great maw ready to the swallow the Cage whole.

The wind chimes hung silent, motionless in the stifling heat, and the only sound Suki could hear as she patrolled the siblings' favored training area was the distant warble of cicadas punctured by the crunch of paper through the hall.

An arm covered with a crimson red sleeve jutted out from behind a pillar along the colonnade, a ball of crumpled colored paper skittering across the floor, resting beside a small pile. An irritated grunt echoed through the air. Suki smiled, spirit in her stride.

"Wasting paper I see." Her voice bounded through the cloister.

Zuko's head peeked from behind the pillar, his piercing yellow eyes wide. There was a flutter in Suki's stomach like the beating of a dozen desperate wings. She tried not to grin too widely, keeping an air of professionalism.

He smiled up at Suki as she approached, sitting against a pillar, shaking his head away from her as she stood beside him.

"More like wasting time. Too hot to train anyway." Zuko turned his head, taking a piece of gold colored paper from a neatly stacked pile lying at his side.

"That's a surprise." Suki leaned against the pillar, arms crossed in front of her chest, her eyes trailing from his neck to his eyes. "I thought all fire-benders loved heat waves."

"Sure, but I'm not stupid. We're still human. We can get hot and sweat just like other people, might even collapse from the heat because you're too exhausted. What good is your bending then?"

She bit her painted lips, pushing down an urge to be funny. A pained look crossed Zuko's face as he folded the gold paper.

"…I didn't say you were stupid, Zuko. Just thought you'd be training." Suki looked at him, his eyes tightly creased.

"What for? Not like I'll have my life put in danger anytime soon." His eyes were focused on the paper, folding it into smaller intricate shapes.

"Good to stay in shape. There's nothing wrong with that. Plus, you might get the edge over your sister."

A grunt. Zuko balled the paper in his fist and threw it to the side.

"Sure, maybe see her bleed through her teeth for a change. I guess I can always dream."

"I'd pay to see that. Maybe put together a pool with the other guards. It'll knock her down a peg or two if you win."

He turned his head to Suki, giving her an odd look before shaking his head, a light smile on his face.

"You're something, Captain."

She smirked, leaning down to sit beside him on a step, her sheath chinking against the polished floor, hands sliding into her lap.

"Still not getting the hang of it?" She tilted her head toward the small pile of crumpled paper.

"No. Origami isn't my thing I guess. I don't have delicate hands… or patience." He turned his head toward her, the cuts and purplish black skin under his left eye dark like the walls of the Cage.

The fluttering in her stomach stopped, replaced with a bitter urge to cut flesh with her sword.

Azula was merciless toward Zuko. Something in the way they fought one another went beyond mere training. It was like a valve was turned in each of their hearts, a rage like steam let loose from their arms and legs. They'd burn the Cage down in their anger, one of the reasons Suki kept their gauntlets on.

"What were you trying to make?" She asked.

"A crane… or some kind of bird, one of the ones that like to perch on the pagodas and fly off into the sun. I don't know," he said.

"Those are hard to make, lots of little folds. You need patience for that. Even Lady Ursa can't make them and she's pretty good at this."

He shrugged, letting out a sigh.

"Why are you here anyway?"

An eyebrow perked up. "Keeping you company?"

"No, I mean why are you _here_. You usually go to where you pick up that man-whore this time of week."

She rolled her eyes, a small laugh escaping her.

"It's the same trip up and down this mountain for four hours of the day. I don't exactly think spending that much time in a metal box with treads is what I'd call 'fun'."

"So you got someone else to go?"

She shrugged, smiling at him. "Pretty much, but that's not until a couple of days from now. I'll let a subordinate of mine sweat it out for a change."

His laugh was like a balm on her aching heart. He had the most sincere looking smile, like all the pain was washed away in a joyful tide, his face as radiant as a campfire in the night. Had it not been for the heavy white face-paint the red on her cheeks would have shown.

Suki tried to stifle a giggle, her gloved fist pressed against her mouth.

And then the keys for the chi-blocking gauntlets on her hip began to chime.

She blinked, taking in a calming breath. There was danger in making him smile, to be allured by the exiled prince, a wariness of every little gesture meant to honey-pot her into letting her guard down. Take the keys in a suicidal attempt at freedom.

Suki's smile softened and she gave him a guarded, questioning look.

"So, I'm suddenly funny, huh?"

Zuko shook his head. "Well, I just imagined you wiping off all the sweat and make-up from your face because of the heat."

"We call it 'war-paint', smart one. Its tradition, one I'm proud to uphold as warrior. This stuff is water-proof too you know."

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Good thing, or else why bother with putting so much on?"

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You're easily amused at my expense, Zuko."

"Well, there's so few people here that keep me easily amused."

"Why? Is Sokka not doing his job right?"

His face froze for a moment, turning a beguiling russet, eyes wide as he slowly turned his head away.

"No, it's not that."

"Then what? Is Azula hogging him for herself? He's supposed to be entertaining you _and_ your family. Of course each of you have a different sense of what _entertainment_ is-"

"Suki, no, its-"

He stopped, his teeth clenched, holding back his words. His eyes wandered and his thumbs grazed the tips of his fingers, his brow heavy with unspoken feelings.

"You've… been _good_ to my family. Mother appreciates it and admires your ability to bear with Azula. I… _appreciate_ you as well. You've done your best to make this place feel like a new home."

Her eyes widened, a mix of pride and uncertainty swirling within her, wary of his words.

"I'm a warrior, Zuko. All I do is guard this place."

"The guards that were here before you did the same. You and the Kyoshi Warriors treat us with honor, like we're still royalty. They didn't."

He turned away from her, leaning against the pillar as he looked out onto the empty courtyard, the weight of the past heavy in his eyes, measuring the distance.

"When my father failed to kill my uncle and grandfather in his bid to take power for himself, we were spared only because we had the blood of an avatar running through us. Thought it was better to lock us away. Thought it was 'dishonorable' to Great Roku's legacy, might look bad to the people. Everyone treated us like scum anyway."

She nodded slowly. "Fire Lord Azulon just needed us to guard the Cage. He sent the guards we replaced… somewhere else."

Zuko shook his head, chuckling incredulously. "I can imagine. That old man makes enemies just so he has an excuse to fight, even if it's our own people. Thinks he can still prove himself. You don't have to pretend there isn't a rebellion against him going on, Suki."

She had to let it out. Put him on the spot. Her words were like a sword pressed to his belly.

"You might take a chance to escape. Feel like the time is right for you to get the people on your side and take down Fire Lord Azulon… my _employer_. The guy who _pays_ for all this luxury you're living in. I don't know how you'll take that kind of information."

Zuko's shoulders sagged and she caught a wounded look that made his lips purse. His jaw tightened.

"And then what? _Redeem_ myself? Win the hearts and minds of my people? The army? How can I do that when they all think I'm a traitor like my father?"

There was an uneasy pause, nothing but the cicadas warbling in the summer heat.

The captain was silent, her lips pressed closed, unblinking as she stared at the former prince, her heart painfully racing.

"I'm no fool, Suki. I know there's _nothing_ for me on the other side of these walls. The rebels, my grandfather, they'd all rather see my head on the end of a spear, all because of my father's actions."

"And your sister? Your mother?"

"What do you think?"

His words sent a cold shiver through her system as they sank in. For now at least Suki's suspicions were placated. With Zuko and Ursa, escape was a matter of if. For Azula, it seemed that it was a matter of when. If the entertainment she hired couldn't distract her, then nothing could.

 _So what? Who'd follow her on the other side of these walls? Who'd be mad enough to fall in with her?_

 _No one._

She nodded, momentarily put those thoughts aside as she inched closer to Zuko, a tender hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, mind if I have a piece of paper?"

Surprised, Zuko nonetheless complied, giving her a piece of gold paper.

She smiled at him. "I know a few animals that are easier to fold, like a turtle or a mole. Something that likes to stay put, makes a home wherever it is. Wanna see?"

He blinked. "Earth Kingdoms animals?"

"Sure. Got a problem with things from the Earth Kingdoms?"

He shook his head from side to side, a look of relief overtaking him.

* * *

The rope that tied his hands above his head and his ankles to the foot of the bed cut deep into his skin. He thought he was bleeding, but his mind played tricks on him when she covered his eyes with the blindfold – sweat for blood. He knew better than to think that way. She relished tightening the ropes until he bled.

His sweat seeped into the unkempt sheets under him, the grimy, stifling air hugging his naked body, his odor mingling with hers.

The rickety bed sank where his right leg was. He could feel the leather of her pants grind roughly against his lower thigh and a cold, leather cladded hand dig into his most sensitive area, rubbing him raw as another clawed deep into his left thigh.

He felt trapped, helpless, like when they threw him below the deck of the slave ship so long ago, staring up into the dark, the scent of rotting, straining wood mixed with sea salt hitting him like a club to the back of the head.

His muscles cringed as the past came rushing back, the twitch in his eyes consuming his face. His jaw felt like it would crack and his hands twisted against the bindings, holding back the desperate urge to cry out, to beg her to stop the bleeding, to end the punishment, the humiliation, to let him keep the last thread of his dignity.

He couldn't take the pain anymore. A shrill groan escaped his throat and he tried to imagine something else besides the pain to make her stop, but she would have none of it.

She climbed on top of him, sat on his stomach, her hand never leaving his agonizingly tender skin as she continued to twist and pull at the hot pain between his legs.

Another hand latched on to his neck as she straddled him and the nails on her fingers closed like the talons of a hawk. He choked, his breath coming in gurgles, the words like a child learning to read for the first time.

"Red… red… _red_!"

 _Stop. Stop. Stop!_

She laughed like he was a pathetic joke. Her fingers dug in everywhere, spears piercing the skin.

"Red… _red_!"

 _For fuck sake, stop! I can't take your sick pleasure anymore, you fu-_

Her laugh twisted into a growl. For a fleeting, merciful moment the hand between his legs released its vise-like grip. It connected with his jaw as a fist, the other hand continuing to choke him. The crack resonated through his ears and he fell into a shattered daze, eyelids scraping against the blindfold.

And then a second hit, then a third, and then a fourth, each one harder than the last. Suddenly, he couldn't say anything. He wasn't even sure if he was still awake.

Her voice was cold, like the feel of a dagger against his neck. "I'm not through with you, boy."

The grip on his neck slackened. He breathed like he was coming up for air after a dive.

His voice was hoarse, gathering his crippled strength. "Red… red…"

Her nails raked across his chest as an answer, her fingers once again tightening around his neck. They dug into his nipple and scratched down to his ribs. His eyes felt like they would pop out and his scream changed to a gurgled wheeze.

She purred like it was the most divine noise he could make. "I like the way you hurt, boy."

Her fingers flew away from his skin and for one horrible moment he feared where her talons would scrap him next.

His worst predictions became a reality as they clawed at the raw, hot flesh between his thighs, a pain like an ostrich-horse in the midst of a botched gelding.

"You like the way you're hurting, boy? _Huh_?" she asked, her leather hips grinding against his stomach, tightening her fingers around his neck until he could barely gasp.

He wanted to give up. He gave up as soon as he spoke, but she wouldn't let him. He was limp in her hand and she knew it, too much pain. She wouldn't stop until he was good and hard, playing into her sick game.

The last thread of his pride was ripped away as he fought through the pain with a memory, forcing himself to give in.

He thought of the Cage and its sumptuous rooms. He imagined the soft red cushions beneath his skin and the scent of grape wine and salted pistachios whipping through the air. No leather, no black, no cold fingers – just the soft sensation of supple, pale skin against his hands, luscious red lips biting his neck, and the girl of his reddest dreams whispering in his ear.

 _Come. Come with me. Come with me to a better place._

"That's it, boy. I feel you now. You want this to end, don't you? You're fucking pathetic for a skimo, just like I knew you were. Fucking coward!"

He could feel her nails break the skin as they loosen around his neck, gliding over his collarbone. She didn't let up. The sore skin as she rubbed him off felt like it would be flayed.

He arched his head back, a hoarse moan escaping his battered throat as he bucked his hips into her harsh grip.

The girl slipped away from his mind and the red rooms the Cage fade to nothing. He didn't feel pleasurable relief, only the grim sense that he escaped. He rasped with every breath he took, holding back a sudden urge to give in and weep as the woman straddled his waist.

He gritted his teeth instead, his hands twisting in circles, the full weight of his upper body pulling down his arms, making the rope around his wrists tighten.

The woman chuckled at his pain as he went limp in her hand again, grazing her fingers against the raw, red skin.

"You should see how pathetic you look. I could paint a fucking picture of it, sell it to all those freaks on the streets that get off on this stuff."

"… Red… _please_. Untie me…"

"Couldn't take the pain? Payback's a fucking bitch ain't it, boy?"

Her weight pressed against his stomach like lead as she leaned forward. He flinched, recoiling under her touch, her nails carding through the loose hair on the back of his head as she undid the blindfold. As she pulled back, he could smell his essence on her fingers as it caught in his hair.

Sokka's vision focused and adjusted to the dimness of the room, the red and blue lights from the signs outside the window hanging above the neighboring love motels.

What greeted him was the sight of a leather-clad woman, her skin as pale as stained bone and her hair as black as soot, crowned by a skull headpiece. Tattoos colored in shades of russet snaked down her firm arms and on each side of her leg was an array of knives.

She had a name like summer, but was as cold to him as the lash of winter.

"You know," she said, wiping off his mess from her hands with the blindfold, "Ever since you turned up here in the Fire Nation, I've been thinking up ways to get back at you."

Sokka's eyes wandered, falling in and out of clarity, the salt from his sweat stinging his eyes. The scratches and cuts pulled at his skin like fishhooks and every small wriggle or twitch ignited a fire where she bruised him.

"You were just another price on a head, extra change in my pocket. Slaves escape all the time in the Earth Kingdoms. They make steady income for bounty hunters like me."

She leveled her eyes at him and Sokka stared into the soul of a vengeful monster. His heart felt like it would break out of his chest and run. With a smirk, she tossed the blindfold over his face like a dirty rag, balled it in her fist, and wiped his sweat and essence over his face.

The smell was oppressive. Sokka tried to fight it off, to spit, but her hand gripped his chin and held him in place.

"Didn't care that you fell in with a bunch of bandits, thinking you'd be free. That was more money for me, since they all had a bounty on their heads. I took care them just the same."

She tossed the blindfold aside after a last smear across his eyes. She made him look at him, her nails scraping against his chin like barbs, hate in her dark eyes, her teeth bared.

"And then Nyla got _hurt. I_ got hurt. Cut, bruised. Had to put my Nyla down because of you. Put me out of the _job_. I would have hunted you across the damn world, snuffed you out like a _snow_ - _rat_."

She was so close he could have spat in her face. The pale glint of her knives in the dim room strapped to her legs made him think twice. He just stared back at her with what he hoped looked like a defeated look. He was beaten anyway, but he could live just a bit longer.

And then her lips curled into a cruel smile, her fingers trailing from his chin to his collarbone like the nimble legs of a spider.

"Ironic you turn up here in the Fire Nation, just another _slave_ , trading the tea fields for silk and wine. Thought you were smart, _huh_? Thinking you could get away from it all? People here like skimos working for them just like they do in the Earth Kingdoms. They won't care about you. They just care about what you can do for them. You're a fucking idiot."

Her words cut deep and he felt something crack inside of him.

Her hands glided to her hips across her knives as he stared down at him with that vicious smile of hers. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes were wide, and for a moment he couldn't hear or think about anything except the fear coursing through his veins, waiting for the moment when her blade sank into his chest.

She gave him a look, like he was nothing but meat.

"Death's too easy for you, boy, too quick. Breaking you like _this_ , turning you into a fucking mess, and you just _taking it_ … that's better than anything I could've imagined. Might as well have some _fun_ while I'm at it. You're cheap enough for me anyway."

Knocks from the door on the other side of the room made her turn her head. Sokka felt like a weight was lifted from his chest as he breathed.

The voice was muffled behind the door. "Miss June, the time you paid for is up."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Give me a minute."

June looked back down at him. His eyes were turned away, tucked behind his right arm as it dangled above him. He didn't want to look at her anymore. He just felt like hiding away.

"You make a move on me when I cut you lose, I cut more than just your skin, _got it_?"

He didn't answer her. June reached out her arm and balled a tuft of his hair in her fist, making him yelp.

" _Got it_?"

Sokka's voice cracked. "Yes, just let me go!"

She smiled. "Good boy."

She climbed off him, unsheathing a knife before cutting away the rope at his ankles and wrists. Sokka's arms fell. As he tried to hoist himself up by his elbows every joint and cut on his body urged him to lie back down. He groaned, fighting through the pain as he slowly climbed off the bed, his cuts brushing against the rough cotton of the sheets.

He tried looking for his clothes as his sore feet touched the worn carpet. His eyes trailed toward June as she sat in a nearby chair, the faint light of a cigarette burning between her lips. His clothes were heaped into a pile at her feet.

He could feel the blood in his face drain away and the ludicrous thought of leaving them behind flashed across his mind.

Her voice mocked him. "Don't be a savage now, boy, get your clothes and put them the fuck on."

He hesitated as she crossed her legs, a steel-toed boot bobbing idly. Cuts burning his skin, he slowly rose from the foot of the bed, limping toward her. Her eyes raked over him, admiring her work. It fanned the rage building in his chest, dampened by his exhaustion.

He gave her one last reluctant look as he knelt down to pick up his clothes. As he grabbed them her foot jutted out, hitting his nose. It cracked, the pain sending shock waves through his dazed head. He fell on his side. The taste of warm copper seeped into his mouth, his teeth stained red.

June merely shook her head, smiling to herself. She reached forward to pick up his pants and tunic, tossing them at his face.

"You should wipe yourself off, boy. You're bleeding all over the carpet."

Sokka licked his upper lips, getting a full taste as he glared at June.

The knocks came again, the voice behind the door more insistent. "Miss June, I'm serious, your time is up."

"Yeah, yeah, he's just getting dressed."

Sokka didn't care how beat up and unkempt he looked. He just wanted to get out of there and put the whole night behind him.

He pulled his tunic down over his face, made no effort to smooth out the creases, and hastily put on his pants. He could here June snickering. He was scared of her and she knew it.

Without another look Sokka made his way to the door, clasping the handle. He didn't get to see June wave him goodbye.

"See you next time, boy."

Sokka hastily turned the handle and swung the door open, where the burly private security guard that escorted him from Club Hasu stood in the hallway. The man hardly blinked at how bruised Sokka looked as he closed the door.

"You went over the time."

Sokka let out a growl as he began to make his way down the hall.

"Tell that to _her_."

His back turned, he barely had time to register the powerful hit to the back of his leg. He crumpled, almost falling over, before he caught his balance. He was met with a sharp slap to the back of his head.

"Don't give any lip, boy. I had to listen to you two the whole time while I stood out here."

Sokka's eyes flared as he turned toward the guard. "Then why didn't you do anything when she _ignored_ the safe word, asshole! She could've _killed_ me!"

The man just shook his head, nudging Sokka forward as they made their way down the shabby hallway.

"You think Miss June is stupid enough to risk upsetting any of the bosses here in Yukaku? You're their property and she makes sure all of you don't run off and escape. She kills you while she's having her fun then she gets in _real_ trouble."

Sokka stopped in the hallway, his body pleading for him to lie down as the cuts and bruises stung all at once.

"Look at me! Our owner's gonna have a fit! I can't cover all the costs of bandages and shit over this, he's gonna have to help me!"

"He doesn't have to do _shit_ , Sokka. Get one of the other boys or girls you work with to help you. You want more money, then you better work harder for it."

The man pushed him forward, pressing against the cuts on his back as he winced at the pain. Sokka limped down the hall in silence, wiping the salty sting from his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to curse him out. It wouldn't do him any good and only invited another hit.

As they both made their way out into the night, the cool breeze whipping at Sokka's raw skin, the restless tempo that had come to define Yukaku was gone, gutted by the bombing.

Signs of every color were lit up, but the streets were nearly barren of people, a calm that settled over the rain-washed streets.

Somber soldiers with spears and swords replaced the giddy girls in flashy kimonos and gauzy qipao dresses. Only the occasional night worker with her clientele wrapped around her waist braved the dark streets as they passed soldiers on patrol.

In the distance a vast, hazy gleam caught the storm clouds hanging over the city, smoke on the damp air. A fire burned and the distant chants of thousands of angry souls cried out as one, damning the old Fire Lord.

Sokka and the guard kept to the shadows as best they could, avoiding the suspicious eyes of the soldiers they passed, keeping their eyes averted.

He felt so pitifully small under the glow of the red signs, the closely packed multi-story bars and motels like shadowy walls trapping him in. Days and nights passed without much change and the chaotic fever that normally gripped the streets of Yukaku became a repetitive grind, chipping away at him.

It never ended. He wanted so desperately to escape, to leave the Fire Nation behind him, to watch Yukaku burn to ash as its embers climbed into the night sky, dying to the sound of cheering crowds.

Only a few words reminded him of that deep, hidden desire.

He held his head higher, carefully wiping his face with a sleeve, breathing in through his clotted nose, the night air like a balm on his battered body as he held the words close to his heart.

 _Come with me. Come with me to a better place._

* * *

The central command room of the Office of the Juntong was nothing like the throne room of the Fire Nation palace.

The smell of stale tobacco clung to the gray uniforms of haggard-looking intelligence officers and aides as they scrambled through the room in a flurry of action, the smoke of a dozen cigarettes and pipes casting a dreary, gray haze.

Pens, rulers, unfurled scrolls, and intelligence reports cluttered the vast table that dominated the room as its centerpiece; a massive map of the Fire Nation sprawled across its surface. Aides pointed and pushed formation markers as they read the latest reports of army and rebel columns moving across battle zones in the highland wastes.

The occasional screech of a messenger hawk punctured the deafening noise of jabbering personnel, perched on its handler's shoulder as he passed the latest information into the impatient hands of pudgy looking intelligence officers.

For the better half of a week, Xianhou practically lived in this room, managing the frantic pace of work, keeping up to date on the latest victories, set backs, and casualty numbers, kept focus by bitter tea and tobacco. After all, patriotism and duty could only go so far to keep one awake.

A finger tapped lightly on his shoulder. An aide, her gray uniform with blood red mandarin collars crisp and fresh, no younger than many of the levees conscripted into the army, brought him a scroll and a fresh cup of tea.

The aroma made his weary senses come alive. "Thank you, Jiang."

"Of course, sir," the aide said, handing him the cup, "I have some of the latest dispatches as well, from our field agents."

He sipped his tea, his thin lips puckering at the taste. "Right… _more_ news. Well, let's here 'em, Jiang."

"Yes, sir."

The aide took the scroll out from under her arm and unfurled it, her voice raised above the frantic chatter.

"Our agents in the highland wastes say the 41st Division under General Bujing has finally taken Hei Fong Ridge as part of Prince Iroh's offensive. They still report scattered yet determined resistance dug in on the rocks all along the ridge."

Xianhou shook his head. "He's behind the schedule of the offensive. Iroh took Saidan Hill less than a week ago, the ridge should have been secured by then."

"Yes, sir. Elements of the 36th Division were sent in to reinforce Bujing and continue the attack. Heavy casualties."

"Numbers? I need exact numbers."

The aide made a quick glance at the scroll as she squinted her eyes. "Over 2,500 dead, times two wounded."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned. "And the rebels? Did they count their dead yet?

"Yes, sir, I have the figures here… estimated 1,700 dead, but no accurate tally on wounded or prisoners."

"Agni Almighty, the Butcher lives up to his name yet again. At this rate he won't have a division left to command. What about the other army units in the highland wastes?"

"12th Division supported by elements of the 45th took Xian Long Hill on schedule. The 25th Volunteers have taken Rati's Spine, but their numbers are completely depleted."

"Hmm… may have to disband them or fold them into another division. Whoever's going to take the prince's place has that and other things to worry about."

Xianhou leaned heavily over the table as he set his cup down, the news settling in his stomach like bitter lead weight. He felt so tired.

"Total causalities?" he asked.

The aide's eyes hardened, painting a grim picture of the death toll.

"… They're still counting, sir. Our agents can't give us an accurate estimate so far, but they have recorded an estimated 6,600 dead and around 8,300 wounded as of this dispatch, not including the casualties taken by General Bujing's formation."

"And the body count for rebels?"

"Estimates are inaccurate, anywhere from 4,000 to 5,000, maybe more. Again, sir, they're still counting."

There was a sharp pain like a needle pricking at his skin, making his eye twitch. Xianhou rubbed the side of his head, his jaw tightening.

"After all this time its still not enough… so much for _bleeding_ them to death. Prince Lu Ten is _dead_ , his father _sacked_ , all but broken, and on top of that a bloody victory over a couple of volcanic hills in the wastes. Another offensive like this and we're through."

Silent, the gray-cladded aide was an unmoving statue amid the churning sea of harried officers and jabbering assistants, dreary yellow eyes regarding him with a misplaced sense of worry.

"Will that be all, Director?" she asked.

He turned to her, his old, grizzled eyes softening, nodding with as much reassurance as he could muster.

"Yes, thank you Jiang. Keep me informed of anything regarding those casualty figures. I want those numbers checked before army intelligence screws around with it."

Snapping her heels, the aide made a stiff bow before hurrying off out of the room.

Xianhou sighed, his head bowed, leaning over the vast table. Blinking the fatigue from his eyes he hadn't even noticed the faint chalk stains smattered on the sleeves of his gray tunic. He smelled like a black board scribbled with half-erased plans.

Before he could reach for the cup of tea at his side to numb the exhaustion he heard footsteps against the tiled floor hastily approach him.

"Director Xianhou?"

He regarded another aide, this one as young as the last, beady yellow eyes peering out of thick glasses, his gray uniform creased and ragged, sleeves covered in dried hawk dung. He looked like he hadn't slept.

"Spirits, Ling, you're a mess!"

The aide bowed. "Apologies, sir, I've been in the aviary since this morning with a couple of others. Had to help reign in a few hawks that fought each other when they came by. We've been getting dispatches mixed up and sorted out."

"Where have they been coming from?"

The aide's face tensed, anxiety laced with fatigue. "All over, sir. It's getting worse. Zhijiang, Hezhong, Harbor City, Fire Fountain City, Shangqiu, the draft riots have virtually spread to most of our major cities."

Xianhou's fists tensed. He swallowed the brief surge of panic and composed himself.

The aide continued. "Our agents say the Domestic Forces have been pleading with the army for help. They _need_ their support. Some have noted the rioters arming themselves, sir. Machetes, petrol bombs, swords stolen from army depots, you name it."

The weight of the news was heavy. Some assistants passing by grew worried and Xianhou was deep in thought, eyes gazing over the cities on the map.

He pursed his lips, shaking head. "Damn it… just as I feared. Azulon and Iroh should have known this would happen if they pursued their strategy. Too many dead for too little gains and the army only wants more meat for the grinder. Have any instigators been found? Anyone linking to the rebels?"

"I don't know, sir, it's a mess. Some are saying they've identified several rebel agitators, others are saying its army vets stirring the pot and getting the draftees riled up, urging them to tear up their draft cards. They're still trying to get a good sense of the situation."

Xianhou crossed his arms over his chest, pinching his eyes shut as he endured another headache.

"Great. On top of everything else, we have to worry about our soldiers in the highland wastes not receiving any reinforcements. How bad are the riots so far? Any wounded, any killed?"

The aide reluctantly nodded. "Most of the wounded and dead are in Fire Fountain City and in nearby Harbor City. Since the Pleasure District Bombings things are on a knife's edge, sir. No fixed number yet. The situation is very fluid."

He stifled a growl, biting back the urge to snap. "Ling I want you to get a team together and sort through this information immediately. Give me an _accurate_ assessment of what's going on and keep me up to date with anything you find."

"Uh, y-yes, sir!"

"Good. Get moving."

As the aide turned to leave Xianhou looked over the vast map as assistants pushed dozens of formation markers over new positions.

All cross the effected provinces the enemy was taking every hit the army could throw at them, only fighting on ground that suited them. They receded where the army was strong and seeped into the countryside and cities out of the wastes like water, constantly on the move, hard to pin down.

His fingers stroked the graying beard at his chin, eyes darting from marker to marker. A chill shot through his spine and he muttered under his breath.

"Something's coming. There _has_ to be…"

Again, he could hear the heavy footsteps of another aide approach him at a harried pace. This one clicked his heels together when he bowed, a scroll tucked under his arm.

"Sir, latest dispatch on the Royals' movements."

"Very well. Where are they now?"

The young man unfurled the scroll, his eyes scouring over the writing. He turned to his side as he took a long wooden pointer in his hand and settled it over a coastal area on the map.

"Our agents report that the Fire Lord has left the harbor in Kaifeng. He's on his way to Chun Ling Island. They believe he's going to the garrison near Fire Fountain City to inspect troops before they're sent to the mainland, as well as to appoint General Shinu personally as head of operations in the highland wastes."

Xianhou's eyes widened. "What? Who's going to replace him?"

"We don't know yet, sir. Other sources say it's likely to be General Bujing. His performance hasn't been great in the field and he'll most likely be sent to a rear area to monitor supplies and recruiting. Fire Fountain City is the most likely posting."

Xianhou's nostrils flared, grinding his teeth. He placed his hands on the edge of the table as he supported himself, fingers slowly balling into fists.

"Shinu's competent enough I suppose, but the Fire Lord is sending him to the wastes to continue a hopeless battle. If Bujing replaces him he'll make a bloodbath out of the riots in the city."

"Domestic Forces have already requested military support to contain the riots, sir. Shinu's turn them down repeatedly."

"Bujing _won't_. He's not in good standing, not after Iroh's offensive. He's too stubborn and reckless. He'll take any chance to restore some his honor in the eyes of the general staff."

Xianhou shook his head, unable to grasp the mad state is country was in.

"And we'll prove the Hukbong Bayan right, prove just how _ruthless_ our Fire Lord can be to his own people… what about Prince Iroh?"

"He's been safely taken back here to the capital, sir. Our sources say he's getting help and will be recuperating at the palace."

"Good, good… we may not have seen eye-to-eye in the past, but in times like this its not good to dwell on old rivalries. I don't know what its like to loose a son in battle…"

His eyes trailed across the room. He looked into the faces of the young men and women in their gray uniforms hard at work, fatigue eating away at them. They were all sons and daughters to someone. Pens and scrolls may have replaced swords and shields, but they were all soldiers to him, all trained to sacrifice themselves for the good of the Fire Lord.

And all worried that there may come a day where they must do so.

"… But, I would have thought he was _stronger_. He should have been. He _needed_ to carry on. Iroh was the soul of the army. Without him morale will continue to plummet."

Xianhou's gaze fell over the map, settling on Chun Ling Island. The map marker indicating the Fire Lord's position was steadily pushed into place into the sea just off the coast of the island.

His eyes narrowed at the crown shaped piece. "The rebels aren't beaten. They'll bleed, but we'll bleed too. If this goes on, if they continue to spread us thin, we won't be able to beat them."

His eyes drifted toward the center of the island. Just south of Fire Fountain City was a lone green map marker in the shape of the symbol of the Earth Kingdom crowned by a small fan.

 _Mount Hei Long. The Black Cage. Small fortified estate. Detachment of mercenaries, platoon strength. That traitor's family is there._

Around it on several sides was a large area colored in red and yellow, territory in the rough plateau region contested by the army and rebels. Assistants pushed markers like mad across the paper with every dispatch sent their way.

"They're going to hit us. It's only a matter of time. It _has_ to be. This chaos is playing right into their hands. Agni help us if we can't survive what will come…"

* * *

Zirin stood among the throng of bloodied fighters, heads held high, looking to their leader with the blood-covered machete in his hand, a bottle in the other, the headless body of another red cladded royalist slumped over in the black volcanic dirt.

A fire glowed in her heart, thumping in her ears, as bright as the promised fire her leader swore would burn away the corruption and greed that gripped the Fire Nation.

She looked to the sky, eyes opened for the first time. The stars above gleamed like a thousand glinting embers, the roaring fires from the burning metal carcasses of destroyed tank-trains and supply carriages on the barren road lighting the night in brilliant shades of yellow and orange. Twisted bodies laid scattered and charred, supplies and boxes of military grade wine cracked open, littered everywhere.

Zirin's leader climbed atop one of the burning metal tanks. He was splendid with the fire at his back, a real fighter that she wished to emulate. His black tunic was ragged, the sleeves worn away as bandoleers of fuse bombs draped over his chest, ash and blood coating his face. His eyes were opened too, his bright yellow headband emblazoned with bold kanji proclaiming revolution.

All around her fighters cheered. They raised their machetes, metal shining in the fire like a hundred candles burning in the night.

He raised his machete high over his head.

"Comrades! Comrades! I am satisfied with you! You have decorated your blades with the blood of royalist dogs! You have proven again that you are the heroes that will save this country from the parasites that suck it dry!"

A chorus of savage shouts echoed through the warm, dusty air. Zirin joined them, her voice one with theirs.

"They have never given you respect! The royals in their palace that look down their noses at you, the fire sages who spout their lies, the fat landowners who exploit your work, that chain you to the land to work and die under the sun!"

He pointed his machete skyward, daring the false gods that dwelt in the heavens to strike him down.

"But with _this_ in your hand, they will fear you! If they will not give you the respect you deserve, then you will take it! You will take it _all_ from them, comrades!"

They cried out as one, their pitch reaching hysteria. Her leader lowered his machete and raised the bottle in his other hand toward his mouth, biting down on the cork. Red wine spattered his lips as he spat it out. She thought he was the very picture of victory.

"A toast, my comrades! This wine is for you! This is only the beginning! Our time is coming! We cannot be stopped! We will overthrow those who have exploited us, who have betrayed us, who have ignored us for the sake stealing crowns among themselves! We will hoist the head of the Fire Lord on a spear! We will burn away every trace of the decadent Royal Family and scatter their ashes to the wind!"

"No!" cried Zirin, "Not before we shed their blood!"

She felt impassioned eyes rake over her. Her leader was silent, a vicious smile twisting his lips.

He lowered his machete at her. "Make them hear you in the capital, Comrade Zirin. You are a soldier of the revolution, the daughter of peasants who have worked this land for nothing in return. They have let you down! Let them hear your anger! Let the whole damn world here you!"

Her eyes shot open. Fury from the depths of her heart coated every word she cried out, pain and truth and longing for a future she could shape with her hands gushing out of her in one defiant shout.

"Long live the Hukbong Bayan! Long live the revolution! Shed all royal blood!"

Her voice was drowned out in a deafening roar as it reached high into the trembling stars.

" _Shed their blood! Shed their blood! Shed their blood!_ "

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thanks for reading! Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. As stated before this and future chapters will be M rated.

See you all next Saturday!


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